72 Hours
by Anthony Marston
Summary: Friendship... Loyalty... Sacrifice... Love... Fear... Betrayal... Loss... Paranoia... Vengeance... Innocence... Revolution... Death... Battle Royale. High school is hell.
1. Preface: Behind Battle Royale

Author's Note: This story is voluntarily rated M for scenes involving graphic, pervasive violence, strong language, nudity and sexual themes, drug use, and basically being pretty messed up in general. By continuing on you certify that you are mature enough to handle such things without thereafter requiring intensive therapy, admission to an asylum, or new underpants. Otherwise, please close this book now. That having been said, I sincerely hope you enjoy the story, or if you cannot enjoy it, that you please refrain from throwing things at me.

Legal Stuff: This story is not affiliated with Toei Company Ltd., the producers of Battle Royale, Koushun Takami, Viz Comics, and any of the companies, real or imagined, mentioned in this story for the sake of satire or involved with production of the original film and/or novel. The movies, TV shows and songs referenced throughout the story all belong to their respective owners; however the characters within the story are owned by the author. These characters are for the most part fictional though some have a distinct basis in reality, though I hope enough has been changed that if they happen to stumble upon this book they're not horribly offended. If they are, please refrain from throwing things at me.

**

* * *

Transcript from segment of the award-winning documentary "Behind Battle Royale"**

* * *

(Fade in on a soldier, PFC. Barry Charon, Age: 19, Hometown: Huntington, West Virginia, Blood Type: O+. He walks through the middle of a sweltering jungle, swatting low hanging vines and leaves from his face.)

CHARON: I always liked that song.

INTERVIEWER (OS): Which one?

CHARON: "Don't You Forget About Me." Not the most brilliant piece of music out there, but it does it in the pinch. Get yourself out there with a singer who can't sing more than a wailing WOOOOOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoooo, but it's brilliant stuff lemme tell ya. That's only if you like the eighties, but, hey, I like the eighties. Eighties kick ass.

(Swiping some bushes away with a large metal hook, he continues.)

CHARON: Song even has the best movie ever made attached to it, giving it a legacy, I mean, how can you go wrong from there? There's nothing average about it's the perfect movie and the original teen comedy. It's the one that set the standard, got all the characters out there and put them together to make the ultimate team. You have your jock, your nerd, your criminal, your princess and your freak all in one place, all played to the hilt by the greatest of the great teen actors, The Brat Pack. I mean, you can't get anything today comparable with the great wit and wisdom of Judd Nelson. The man's brilliant, just shy of a saint. I mean, Eat My Shorts, that's the catchphrase of a generation. Breakfast Club kicks ass.

(Moving onto a defined trail, we can see an aged, concrete building in the distance.)

CHARON: My generation, we don't have a catchphrase. We like to think we do, but we're the lost ones, we've screwed ourselves over so much there's no real point in having a catchphrase. Fads come and go every week and are forgotten just as quickly, friends, lovers, hell, none of them are good after a while.

(He hikes along the path for a few more minutes, getting closer to the building.)

INTERVIEWER (OS): So what do you think about the Battle Royale Program?

(Charon laughs.)

CHARON: What do I think about it? It's fing perfection. I mean, I look at my generation and I just gotta cringe about how much of it is fake and so fed up, so doing this keeps things real. People become who they really are under situations like the Battle Royale. Also, I gotta say it's the best way to kill time outside of a monster truck rally. People killing people, just, really royally ripping each other to pieces and no one, no one doing anything to stop them.

(He smiles.)

CHARON: Well, OK, no stopping them, but there is cutting them in blasting the s out of them if they want to mess around with ya. I mean, that's just awesome. Someone does something dumb, someone tries to pull something and BAM, they're a few feet shorter. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get a transfer to be working Battle Royale duty? I had to be on a waiting list of three months just to get a transfer to the siest job here, and I'm loving every minute of it.

(Finally reaching the building, he sees another soldier, Pvt. Jessica Holle, Age 18, Hometown: Amberlaine, Michigan, Blood Type: A.)

CHARON: How many we got here?

HOLLE: Eight total. Seven intact, one in pieces.

CHARON: How many pieces?

HOLLE: Just two, belt got set off.

(Charon looks at the bodies and smiles.)

CHARON: Yeah, this is some nice major league poontang ain't it? I mean, girls back home, girls in school would never even give me the time of day but now I get to surround myself with some of these hotties down here. I mean, they're dead and they're no good to me, but they're good to look at (whispering) and sometimes when no one else is looking, I cop a feel. Major league whack off material here with these girls I tell ya.

(Looking at the bodies, he recognizes some of the faces.)

CHARON (enthusiastic): Oh yeah, man, this was sweet. This place, bloodbath city, people just yelling and screaming and just fing each other up, it was beautiful man, frickin beautiful. People shootin people, shootin themselves, people blowin up, people stabbin people, it was awesome.

INTERVIEWER (OS): So what exactly does your job entail?

(Charon kneels down beside one of the eight bodies that have been lined up and pulls out a mesh bag from his belt.)

CHARON: Salvage and retrieval is my title, though that's just some bulls way of saying I'm a vulture. Tried and true, I'm a vulture.

(He lifts the body up by the head, showing it to be the face of a blonde girl with more than a dozen stab wounds dotting her body.)

CHARON: See, she may not look like much now, but I'm telling ya, each and every one of these dead fs here is a celebrity. Already out there they're workin to sell trading cards, pictures, hell, we crowned the winner just this morning and next week their biography's gonna go on sale, probably gonna go off the charts, how's that for ya?

(Dropping her head to the ground, he proceeds to pull a necklace from the girl and place it in the bag. Going to her hand, he pulls off a gold ring.)

CHARON: Those are all fine and dandy for the regular fan, but the good ones, the true fans they buy pieces of the game. We take jewelry, watches, any clothes that haven't been ripped to shreds and they get sold on EBay for a hefty profit.

(Going to another ring, he struggles to pull it off.)

CHARON: I knew I had to get in on the ground floor when this started out, I mean, it was going to be huge and I knew it. We all heard about it ahead of time when they announced what the game would be about, great program to get rid of debt and take care of youth crime at the same time. Worked damn good for Japan and France in their competitions.

(He struggles more with the ring.)

CHARON: When the first competition ended, I went online and bought myself a piece of history, got the class ring of Suzie Deveaux, victim of the winner, rest his soul. Had to cash in a lot of savings bonds to do it, but, hey, when was I going to go to college? I joined up in the army ASAP after that, keeps me from getting chosen for the game, and as soon as I found out how, I signed up to be a part of the team.

(Tired, he reaches for a pair of shears from his pocket and severs the finger, then pulling the ring off and putting it in his bag.)

CHARON: I wanted to work on the second one, but, well, had no seniority, couldn't make it in time. That one was a disappointment anyway, all those peace loving pussies just sitting around waiting to blow up, messes up the point of the game.

(Some time later, walking through the forest with several other soldiers, Charon continues. Most of them are carrying meat hooks buried in the belly of one of the bodies seen earlier as they drag them through the undergrowth.)

CHARON: This game though, wow, blows the other games out of the water. I mean, I don't even think they could've matched this in Japan. This game was long, brutal, and personal. I mean, some of these people really hated each other. Some of them didn't even know each other. Hell, some of these people came into the game looking meek as could be and wound up being the forces to reckon with. This game was badass, and I'm glad I got to take part in it.

(Even later, night is coming along. The soldiers reach their final destination, a pile of bodies and body parts in front of a cinderblock bunker of sorts. The earth around seems to have been burned clean, the ground covered with black and ash. With rubber gloves they pull the bodies from their hooks and toss them into the pile as two more soldiers empty gasoline cans onto the pile.)

CHARON: The winner too, man, they're going to be the celebrity of celebrity. Tom Cruise, Julia Roberts, fing amateurs. Those people make the news when they do their own stunts, our winner, they're the baddest of the badass.

INTERVIEWER (OS): Do you ever feel bad seeing these kids dying, knowing that if you were born in their hometown, you'd have been likely to take part in this game?

CHARON: S man, don't get me thinking about that. I don't wanna die man. I mean, I've seen friends of mine die here, these fers in the game, they took some of my friends and they deserved what they got. If I was chosen for the game, I'd have taken part of it in a heartbeat. This is fing America man, if you don't want to take part in what this country says you should be taking part in, then just get the f out.

(Reaching to a pile of bodies, Charon looks at what appears to be the severed top half of a human head.)

CHARON: Hey, I know this guy.

(He tosses it into the pile.)

(As the soldiers back away, one throws a road flare on the pile from a distance, watching as they catch on in a massive bonfire.)

(After a moment, the soldiers start passing around bottles of beer, whooping and hollering as they surround the massive fire. Some start dancing around almost ritualistically, while others kick back as if it were a holiday. One brings out a guitar and starts playing a tune.)

(Charon pulls up a folding lawn chair and holds a hot dog on the end of a stick towards the open flame, pulling his sunglasses down.)

CHARON: This game, you have to work your ass off, our winner, the first winner to technically live through the end of things, they worked their ass off. I mean, going into the game you wouldn't have thought they'd pull it off just by looking at them, but in the end, man, they pulled it off and pulled it off royally. Down to the wire, minutes within the deadline and BAM, they grabbed the game by the balls and pulled off the win. Lemme tell you though, it wasn't easy, and they had a helluva time...


	2. Highway to Hell

**Highway to Hell**

"BRAIWOOD SENIORS '03 FUCKING RULES, WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Tommy Baker yelled as he streaked across the school's quad. It had been a moment that he was looking forward to all year, no problems, no repercussions, he just stripped down beneath his graduation gown and instead of throwing his hat into the air, everything else went up. Now he wore only that mortarboard as he performed a naked back flip on the grassy quad as school security finally caught up. People were laughing left and right, though more than a few did so out of disgust as the track star was knocked to the ground by a fifty year old man easily weighing 200 pounds more. People ran around, some in graduation gowns, some in their street clothes, and more than a few in one of many states in between. Somewhere in the office building three members of the football team snuck in and piped "Jungle Boogie" over the loudspeakers, gaining even more attention from campus security than anyone would have ever hoped.

Still, it was Graduation Day. Despite the delinquents, despite the problems, nobody really gave a damn about what was wrong. For the students, it had been the end of their student career, their metamorphosis into adulthood and their next stage of life. For the teachers and staff, it was just a relief to be without them. Even the campus security was full of smiles, much as they may have been doing their best to corral the students within the school grounds.

That was the brilliance in the Senior Picnic. Usually it had been one of those events that was done early in the week before graduation ever got around to happening, but this year they packed it in between graduation itself and Grad Nite. It would keep everybody in place and would make sure the delinquency would be kept to a minimum (well, that, and it would prevent at least 80 of the smuggled alcohol from finding it's place into the graduation ceremonies), and it was a massive success. Local pizza restaurants and ice cream joints had donated enough food to feed an army, and overall it was a massive success. Well, aside from the occasional puddle of vomit from those who combined massive amounts of pizza with alcohol, it was a success, but that much was to be expected.

"Come on, turn that thing off," Tamyra said bashfully as she tried to hide from the video camera's aim. Smiling a wide smile from behind it's viewfinder, Nick wasn't one to back down.

"Awww, come on, you look great," Nick retorted as he focused more on her face. She did her best to look away, hiding a toothy grin with defined dimples. She couldn't let Nick win, he always did that. Always made her feel so happy and tingly, no, she couldn't let him win, couldn't let him get that last laugh in.

"No I don't," she replied, "that thing always makes my booty look big."

"Oh you're booty's just fine," he shot back, "You've got meat on your bones which is a damn sight better than half the girls here."

"Yeah?" she asked. Visually, Tamyra knew that she was an average girl at best, able to name her greatest assets and flaws off on her fingers. Round face, dimples, nice smile, eyes, fit tummy, all good. Maybe a few too many pounds, could use a bit more of a tan, and that damn curly hair that just won't straighten out, not good. Self-conscious was a quality she knew she possessed in spades, yet at the same time was one she couldn't do anything about. Another one of those things that made it ever the more amazing that Nick had ever considered her beautiful...

He always had that persona of being one of the pretty boys. He was smart, funny, came from a moderately affluent family and was a star on the swim, water polo and football teams. And yet while most of the athletes from Braiwood High School were just dumbasses who survived too much on testosterone and cruelty, Nick was... decent. Surprisingly decent even.

"Yeah," Nick said quickly, "buncha girls here think lookin like sticks and twigs are gonna get them by in life, and maybe they're right, but give 'em a few years and they'll starve themselves more and more to a point where they can hardly stand, looking like a skeleton and thinking they're beautiful while you're going to be even hotter than you are right now, and let me tell you you are pretty damn hot right now."

"Take out the casual swearing and I'd take that for very romantic," she giggled, "but instead I'll take that for very sweet."

"And I'll take whatever I can get," Nick replied.

"You could take more than that you know," Tamyra said with a mischievous smile, "though you tend to do that anyway."

"Yes, yes I do," Nick continued, "and I didn't hear you complaining last night."

"No I didn't, not one bit," Tamyra responded, "and I'd complain even less if you put that camera away."

Smiling, yet resigning himself to the fact that the situation wasn't liable to change much otherwise, Nick folded the camera's viewscreen in and deftly slipped it into his backpack. Squeezing it between his towel and swim trunks (they promised swimming for Grad Nite, thank God), he made sure it was properly cushioned before linking his arm around Tamyra's waist.

"I absolutely adore you," she said as they began to walk away from the fray.

"Feeling's mutual," he continued, sighing as they began to walk across the quad. It was hard to believe that high school was over. Four years ago it started, full of fear, full of hope, and full of expectations that never would be met. At the same time, it was a period of unbelievably great experiences. First kiss, first dance, first major party, first time getting arrested for driving a golf cart on someone's front lawn while under the influence, first A on a test. Good times, good times.

"Man, we're out of here, can you believe it?" Nick said with the best words he could muster. _Never a poet, but that never stopped you before now did it?_

* * *

Phoenix Bus Lines, #31 the side of the vehicle read. It could have read Bob's Smoked Horse Emporium for all Nick cared, it was a damn sight better than any of the school buses that Braiwood High usually had their hands on. Their old yellow buses were decades out of date, the school district too cheap to pay for anything other than new metal detectors and athletic equipment. This bus though, this was nice. Nicer than anything the school could afford normally, so when they went all out like this, it was special. No, it was HUGE. 

Pushing open the side door, the young couple was greeted with a welcome blast of cool air. In the Southern California heat that the early summer provided, having a bus with an air-conditioner was an unbelievable perk. Light seventies folk rock played over the speakers, adding a bit of pleasantry to what was otherwise a harsh mess of noise coming from the quad.

"_And the road leads to nowhere, and the castle stays the same..."_

"Ben?" Tamyra asked with surprise as she saw the driver, "They gave you a sweet ride for once?"

"Yeah," the aged black man said with a bit of a laugh. He had been Braiwood High's bus driver for god only knew how long, seemingly as old as the school itself. For a long time he'd been disrespected and yelled at by more kids than he could count, time and again passed over for promotion after promotion, and yet he still kept that good cheer and smile. True, most people didn't even know his name, nor did they know his real smile, but to those who did he was the most kind.

"I'm as surprised as you are, but they wanted someone who knew what they was doin and I'm about as good as it gets here," he continued, "A/C, stereo, television, bathroom, VHS _and_ DVD players and first class seats, hell, this is better than my apartment! Best grab yourselves some seats though, things are gonna fill up here pretty quick."

"We the first ones?" Nick asked.

"Almost," Ben said as he looked over his shoulder with a bit of a grimace before looking back to the young couple, "come on kids, get yourselves some seats."

Following the bus drivers gaze, Tamyra caught sight of a boy that more than explained the his look. It's not that there was anything outwardly wrong with the boy, it was just... it was just an understanding that nobody talked about Damien Myers if they weren't ready to.

He had transferred over a year and a half before right out of a hospital after spending a long period of recovery from a car accident. Mentally he was all right and a pretty funny guy to the people who took the effort to get to know him, though asking him about anything that happened before the accident seemed to be a dead end as he either didn't or wouldn't remember much. No, what really seemed to hit Damien the hardest were the physical scars the accident left. His left arm had been severed raggedly below the elbow, while jagged scars criss-crossed his chest, neck and the side of his face. Most people tended to ignore him, while the better portion of Braiwood High School's popular crowd tended to keep the small and wiry boy as their whipping post for verbal abuse. He seemed to take it all in good humor, though with the given nickname of "The Demon", it was hard to understand how he just let it all roll off his back. As Nick and Tamyra passed towards the back to grab a seat, Damien gave a pleasant nod and a crooked smile as he went back to mastering his most recent Gameboy conquest.

"Creepy," Nick muttered softly as he settled into his seat.

"Oh come on, he's not all that bad," Tamyra said with a knowing smile, "besides, I had that creepy look myself a while back and you seemed to like it."

"Your goth stuff?" Nick asked with a laugh, "I just thought you looked hot in all that leather."

With a fit of giggling, another pair of students stumbled aboard the bus. Jackson and Eliza, class stoners though they may be, were quite a cute couple in a hippie/artsy sort of way. Friends with Eliza, Tamyra waved up towards the front of the bus. Eliza raised a hand to respond, but was cut off as Jackson tackled her onto a seat in another fit of laughter.

"Gee, thanks, and here I thought it was my sparkling personality," Tamyra responded with a roll of the eyes as she caught sight of that quiet girl (Tammy, right?) entering the bus and taking a quick seat up front. With innocent wide-eyes and a grin that was nothing short of infectious, movie geek Paul Holt gave Ben a high five.

"Any chance we can just lock up now and take this thing like a private limo?" Paul jokingly asked the bus driver.

"No luck kiddo," Ben replied, "we gotta fill this one up, school's too cheap to charter too many buses ya know?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say," Paul muttered as he made a beeline towards the back of the bus.

"And don't let me catch you writing anything on those seats again!" Ben yelled back to Paul with enough anger to cause the young boy to zip his backpack up once again. A good guy overall, he'd been caught on more than one occasion using magic markers to write classic movie quotes on school buses, bungalows and bathrooms, a well-known and rather annoying trait known schoolwide.

"So what are you going to remember most?" Tamyra asked as she looked off into space.

"'bout what?" Nick responded.

"About high school," Tamyra replied, "I've been saying goodbye to so many people, hearing what everyone seems to think is important and what they're going to take out of it all, and I haven't heard that from you, it's weird. I mean, I think I know going in what your answer is going to be, but I want to hear it to see if I'm right."

"So you want to hear something you think you already know the answer to?" Nick asked.

"Because I like being right?" Tamyra responded with a knowing smile, "Come on, hit me with your best shot, you can still prove me wrong."

"Well..." Nick responded as he mused off into space. He wanted to put the words together but didn't quite know how to make them come out.

"I don't know," he admitted, "I think I will. But I don't know. Gimme a few, aight?"

"Yeah, sure," Tamyra said as she quickly kissed her boyfriend on the chin. Hearing a high-pitched yet still masculine 'Wassup Ben!' coming from the front of the bus, Tamyra stood up and quickly waved the boy over.

"Hey Josh, over here!" she shrieked with particular glee. Short and wiry Josh Peters bounded quickly past the rows of seats towards the two young lovers. For lack of a better title he was the official Braiwood High School class clown, quick with a joke and even quicker with a comeback. He'd done more than a few amateur standup competitions and even made fifty dollars by placing third in a real competition. He was one of those guys that seemed to be everyone's friend, never really the most popular of guys in the world, but never on the outs with anyone. True, he was more than a bit of a horndog when it came to the ladies, but with less than discriminating tastes Nick and Tamyra had become the boy's best friends.

"Wassup guys?" he asked as he propped down in a seat opposite the young lovers.

"Not much, just waiting and wondering," Tamyra responded, "really want to get going though, I mean, with what we paid for this you know it's gotta be good."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Josh quickly replied, "though I will be getting a game of miniature golf out of you guys when you're not making out, right? I mean I know you want to make babies and all that stuff but I came here tonight wanting to beat the pants off a jock at miniature golf and I intend to pull it off."

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Nick responded as he waved the boy off, "you'll get your game of mini golf."

"Sweet," Josh replied simply, "I am so gonna be hustling, so totally gonna be hustling the miniature golf course."

"You know you really need to get a life now, don'tcha?" Tamyra asked with an eye to the door to see if any more of her friends would enter. No dice, just some wannabe ladies man who stood around, eying the few girls in the bus cockily.

"Hey man, holding things up there," the six and a half foot tall Geiger said as he pushed Gervase out of the way.

"Why would getting a life make anything any easier?" Josh asked, "I've been without a life for six damn years now and I couldn't be any happier! Yes it's made me dangerously suicidal and a borderline alcoholic, but damn it's fun!"

"You are a sad strange little man," Tamyra teased as she kicked at him, her moment of revelry taken out by a sharp noise at the vehicle's front.

A shrieking distinct to that of a crew of teenage girls filled the bus and drowned out much of the noise as most of the "Swim Six" entered energetically. They were all stars in every sense of the word, each girl mastering the scholastic as well as athletic realm as key players in their swim team while remaining one of the tightest friendships in Braiwood High School. As always leading the pack, Anna drummed her fingers on the seats as she passed. Immediately flanking her were the energetic blonde (and Anna's best friend) Jenny, and the African-American Naomi (although all the Swim Six were rather gorgeous, Naomi did tend to turn the most heads.) Carrying up the rear of the group were Lindsay and her football player boyfriend Rudy and the Native American Sky along with her twin sister Lexie. Being the outsiders of the clique, Lexie and Rudy remained rather quiet as the five girls chattered and shrieked energetically, stopping and posing as Jenny took what appeared to be the fiftieth Polaroid picture of the night.

"Now that I'm not gonna miss," Josh said as he cleared out an ear and watched the girls grab some seats nearby.

"What's that?" Nick asked.

"Losing an eardrum every time a girl gets excited," Josh joked, "I mean, yeah, I do want that, but preferably if I pay her first."

"You're disgusting," Tamyra deadpanned as she craned her neck to see if any of her friends had ambled aboard the bus.

The somewhat timid yet pretty in a mousy sort of way Lara Drake was followed in quick succession by four of the class "criminals", or more appropriately people that no one would have really wanted to mess with. Peter was a known street racer and back alley brawler (and raging alcoholic, though he kept that part quiet), Ashley got around rather well with the drugs and scuffles, while Jacob was just an all around badass. Gus, well, he was a redneck through and through having grown up most of his life in the desert towns, and with his knowledge of fighting, boozing and shooting shit up out of boredom he was one most didn't choose to get along with. Despite their intimidating appearances, there was a unique camaraderie between the crew, one that was manifested itself in the quiet confidence they entered the bus with.

"Looks like this is gonna be an interesting trip," Josh said as he watched that skater dude Matt enter followed soon after by the cheerleader Maxine. Taking a long and rather blatant glance at her shirt, he added, "Lots of nice... scenery."

"Pervo," Tamyra said as she stuck out her tongue to the class clown. Never one to back down from a challenge, he followed suit.

As he watched classmate after classmate file aboard the bus with great anticipation, Nick finally felt the words he'd wanted to find coming through to him.

"You know, I actually think I am gonna miss this place," Nick said as he watched Marie, Lori and Lisa file onto the bus (though they came in together it was more than likely happenstance; all three were pretty big bitches when it came down to it and hot though they may be, Nick wasn't interested in the slightest), "a lot of good memories here you know?"

"A lot of bad ones too," Tamyra interjected.

"Yeah, but you gotta take the good with the bad," Nick said, "I mean, for all the fights and all the bitchiness that comes with the place, this is high school, you got as many good memories and good times. You just gotta learn to forget about all the crap."

"I can forget the crap," Tamyra replied, "it's the drama, ugh, that, now that is the worst. All the lying, all the backbiting, all the rumors, I wasn't even a part of them and I got sick of 'em."

"You started some though," Josh corrected from his seat as he checked his pair of novelty swim trunks (true, he'd probably get in trouble for them any other day, but given that nobody'd give a damn in a few days he didn't mind bringing out the pair with the words 'Insert hand here' over the crotch).

"That's beside the point," Tamyra said dismissively, "Jeremy's an asshole and he deserved whatever bad press he could get for what he did to her."

"I'll give you that, he was a pretty big douche," Josh said as he craned his neck over the seat in an effort to try and see if any more hotties got on the bus. Instead, he just found political loudmouth Blake, skinny gay boy Michael and lardass AJ. _No chicks, god damn it._

"I mean, I'm a douche bag, but I'm not _that_ kind of a douche bag, ya know?" Josh continued to reasonably deaf ears. Normally everyone that could, did listen to the class clown as he joked, but the next person entered the bus, nearly all conversation went silent. Wherever he was... trouble tended to follow.

Luke entered the bus rather smoothly despite the fact that the trickle of people getting on the bus became something of a flood. As he confidently strode through the aisle he got more than a few appreciative glances from the girls, but for Luke that was hardly something new. Striding along with a grin that had separated many a girl from her panties, he slipped in beside his recently ex-girlfriend to see if he could get a reaction. Given Lara's look of disgust, it was clear what kind of reaction he'd received.

"Get away from me you dick!" she practically shrieked, kicking him from the bench seat, "And take that slut of yours with you!"

Without missing a beat, Luke got back to his feet with that same cocky grin of his and stole a seat a few rows back. Normally his quick wit would have taken Lara down a peg, but his confident smile was more than enough to show that he had complete control of the situation, had it all planned out and was enjoying every second of it.

"What's that all about?" Nick asked.

"Young love..." Josh interjected, then quickly adding, "and the fact that Lara's dumb enough not to realize that Luke's a total man whore."

"Ah," Nick replied with a nod of the head. It was no secret that Luke was one of Braiwood High School's charmers, he'd been with more girls and guys than anyone could count at this point, seeming to take it all as some sort of cha-

"Oh no," Tamyra muttered as she tried to duck behind the seat, "I am so suddenly wishing we were on another bus."

"What?" Nick asked as he craned his neck to take a look.

"Cavemen, twelve o'clock," Josh whispered from across the aisle as he did his best to seem invisible as well.

Looking the other way, Nick could see what they had seen before he, and already he shuddered. This ride... it was going to be hell.

"YEAH, GRAD NITE!" Mike yelled at the tops of his lungs as he entered the bus, "WHAT'S UP NIGGAS?"

"Shut the fuck up," Joel commanded as he sucker-punched Mike in the kidney and forced the other boy to collapse to the floor.

_Why here? Why this bus? There's a half-dozen other buses, of all the buses going out tonight why'd they have to get on this one? Why?_ Nick sighed. Anyone who had ever been through high school had their own share of bully stories, stories of people who had terrorized them, stuffed them in trash cans, lockers, pantsed them. However, Joel and his posse... they had brought bullying into an art form.

To anyone who had known him it was enough of a miracle that he made it through senior year; he was an imbecile in many a sense, a rich and violent one at that. While he came from a reasonably affluent family, he was known to have a short fuse and had already been arrested four times for fighting in three different schools. In one fight he allegedly gouged out a guys eye just because he'd put his foot on Joel's motorcycle so he could tie his shoe, though no one was willing to find out whether or not it was true. He was on the verge of receiving some serious psychological counseling on how to get rid of his aggression when they'd recommended he take up a sport, and lo and behold he joined the wrestling team. This simple act had taken the edge off his violent nature and changed his standing in school. No longer just a thug, he had rocketed to the top of the Braiwood High School hierarchy, as being loud, mean and insulting to women seemed to get the girls to flock to him. Joel was the king... and he knew how to get his subjects to flock to him.

Already trailing behind him were his minions from the wrestling team. His blonde bimbo of the month, Carrie (who most called CC) clung to his waist, and although she was pretty stupid and didn't object when Joel would smack her from time to time, she was easily the least objectionable of the bunch. There was Mike, a.k.a. Big V, the shortest and wiriest member of the wrestling team, and by far the loudest. He was a fan of inflicting pain however he could in the ring, and though he wasn't the brightest outside, he was oddly adept at blackmail. If Mike was the Jester to Joel's king, then Karen was quite probably his loyal advisor. Short, overweight and extremely muscular with a head of spiked hair, the admitted bull dyke was more than enough to make waves on the wrestling team among the men. If anything, she had her moments it seemed where she rather enjoyed breaking guys in half.

Following Karen were the last two members of Joel's gang, yet easily the most bewildering. Shane was for lack of a better word retarded, some complications during childbirth it seemed, but he was incredibly strong and took part in several of the school's sport teams. Nick himself had a rather dark sense of humor, he was one to admit it fully, but them taking advantage of the handicapped wasn't cool, not in any way, shape or form. Behind Shane was the last of Joel's gang, the drunkard exchange student from England, Bo, who Nick didn't really know, or care, a lot about.

_Please God, no_, Tamyra thought, _just let this be over, no more, it was bad enough for four years, don't let it happen again._ Having lived life as an outsider in the Braiwood High School hierarchy, Tamyra found herself on the receiving end of much of the cruelty that the cliques had to offer. The girls made fun of her, while the guys harassed her simply because it was easy. Dating Nick seemed to make it a bit better, but that didn't stop all that cruelty had to offer. Nobody, but nobody would stop Joel.

Well, almost nobody...

"How long is this ride again?" Tamyra asked nervously in an attempt to take her mind off the situation.

"An hour, hour and a half maybe, we're headed out by Vista Del Mar," Nick added.

As the wrestlers settled in at the back of the bus and already began howling, Tamyra grimaced.

"You want to switch buses?" Tamyra asked with even more hesitation.

"It's not that bad," Nick insisted, "relax, just, relax."

"Easy for you to say. It's gonna be a long hour and a half," she muttered.

"I can make it go by faster," Nick responded as he placed a soft kiss on her lips.

"Yeah, you can," Tamyra responded as she kissed him again.

"Awww, you guys are cute, just like old people," Josh joked from across the aisle.

"Eat shit," Tamyra replied as she gave her boyfriend another kiss. They rolled around on the seat, giggling to each other as Tamyra did her best to brace a foot against the wall for balance. Josh meanwhile had his eyes trained back on the front, and the next sight quite clearly made his eyes go wide.

"Yowza," Josh said, with no other words quite clear enough to explain the vision. Indeed, she was a vision, nay, a goddess to behold. No, it wasn't that fat girl Elena, that library chick Katie (what the hell was she doing here anyway, she never does anything fun), or that nerdy genius kid who walked in just before, no, it was Katherine. Katherine Farraday. She was one of those girls that every other girl wanted to be, while every boy wanted to be with her. Long blonde hair, glowing smile, eyes of both green and blue, and a body that was both petite yet curved, she was visually impressive, yet at the same time was probably the single nicest person in school.

For the longest time she'd been the silent, lonely type, but had taken senior year as her last hurrah, the last chance to shine, and had completely revamped her personality. She was nice to everyone, outgoing, becoming friends with almost anyone and everyone who was willing to converse with her. Couple that with the fact that she also started showing some more skin at the same time, it was not hard to understand why she'd suddenly become so popular. Poor taste in boys that had hurt her more than once, but still popular.

It had only been a matter of ten minutes, but already the bus was beginning to fill up. Friends were joking around, some couples (like Nick and Tamyra) took the time to get tender, while none of the cliques lost their unique touch. The wrestlers took up the back seats of the bus rather loudly as they passed around a plastic baggy of watermelon cubes soaked in vodka, while a few seats up the five out of the six members of the Swim Six present chattered and giggled with a certain ferocity.

"What happened to Lenore?" Sky asked.

"Hot date," Naomi replied, "got herself a new mystery man."

"Ooh la la," Jenny added as she sprawled herself out across Anna and Naomi's laps much to the amusement of her friends, "she's in loooove. Hope she has better taste this time."

"Tell me about it," Naomi replied with an eye roll, "she's _still_ got some stitches left on her cheek."

A hush fell over the bus if just for the slightest of moments as five more girls entered the bus. Stunningly beautiful though they may be, enough Braiwood alumni had fallen before their wrath to know that they were ones not to mess with.

"Now this ride's gotten damn near disgusting," Tamyra muttered underneath her breath as she tried to hide against her seat. One only needed to get the slightest glance at the cheerleading sweater to know that it was in their best interest to get out of these girls way. _It isn't enough I'm on a bus full of macho jerks but now we gotta deal with these bitches? Jesus, they didn't even have to pay for Grad Nite, won those tickets in some random drawing! All five of them coincidentally won five free tickets, how's that even possible with a student body like this?_

"Yeah, but if that's disgusting, then sign me up for some of that!" Josh said as he delighted in ogling the beauty queens as they took up their seats towards the front of the bus.

Tamyra could only sigh. One had to excuse Josh's hormones more often than not, but being one of the prime targets of The Brat Pack's wrath, she could only shudder. They just couldn't seem to handle the fact that a reformed goth chick had hooked up with a jock as hot as Nick and made sure Tamyra knew everyday that she did not belong. From the taunts to the threats to the letters stuffed inside her locker, Tamyra would have spent many a night crying if it hadn't been for Nick's infinite patience. He would always tell her not to worry, always tell her to not give a damn about the girls... Just another one of those things that made her adore him ever the more. Unfortunately, there were more than a few people who weren't nearly as lucky. Stuff they did to guys like AJ, Carlos and Damien... downright nasty, and how they treated Maxine! That was just obscene, she was a cheerleader like them, one of their own, and they treated her like she was the dog shit just because she was a little different!

"Well I can see that this is gonna be a fun ride," a booming voice proclaimed from outside as it bounded up the stairs and into the bus. More than a few cheers went out from those assembled in the bus as the one, the only, Mr. Jarlath "Jim" Rhodes walked up the stairs and watched over the students. At 62 years of age, Mr. Rhodes was a barrel-chested man with silver hair, wire-rimmed glasses and a growing bald spot, but his sense of humor and the fact that he was willing to talk to most anyone about anything from Venus Flytraps to the proper treatment for STD's made him easily the most popular and beloved teacher among the students at Braiwood High. The fact that he was on the verge of retirement was disheartening to many, but the fact that almost all the seniors had passed through his Biology class at one time or another was more than enough to make it up to them, if just for the memories. He was even the one to give The Brat Pack their moniker.

"All right, we're about ready to get our butts in gear by the looks of things, but since there are more lawyers out there these days than teachers I gotta go through this part so bear with me. These are the bus rules," Mr. Rhodes said as he pointed to a small box that was printed on the back of the visor above the drivers head, "I expect you all to look them over at some time or another. If you don't get the chance, here's the Cliff's Notes version: No biting, no spitting, no kicking unless someone deserves it, no flash photography and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle yadda yadda yadda you kids know what you're doing. You've all got diplomas, that'll make you right from now on out."

As laughter scattered out through those actually listening to him, Mr. Rhodes took the opportunity to do a quick head count. _47... 48... 49. That's a nice even number, right?_

"ALL ABOARD!" Mr. Rhodes yelled triumphantly as he tossed his paperwork on the dash and braced his hands along overhead luggage poles, "GET YOUR SEATS AND BUTTS IN GEAR WE'RE ON OUR WAY OUTTA HERE! Come on Ben, let's get a move on."

The elderly black man calmly pressed the button to pneumatically close the side doors and watched as they slowly cycled shut.

"Wait!" a boy's voice yelled from the outside as a hand quickly shot its way between the doors. The doors closed and jiggled around the arm as it stuck through before Ben had the chance to press the open button.

"Just in time boy," Ben said with a laugh as the doors opened. Carter, one of the most sheepish looking people in school and Vice President of the SDS Club stepped through the doors with a gawky grin.

"Anyone else I'd have told Ben to get this thing in gear and leave 'em in the door," Mr. Rhodes said sarcastically as he swung into an empty bench seat, "get yourself a seat kiddo."

"Thanks Ben, Mr. Rhodes, wouldn't miss this for the world," he said as he shouldered his pack and ambled on down the aisle, "hey Ash, what's happenin?"

"Nice fashionably late entrance!" Josh yelled over the rows of seats before collapsing down in a laughing fit.

"Aw come on, it's Grad Nite," Tamyra said as she rolled her eyes, "cut the guy a little slack."

"Yeah, and it's also the last time most of us are gonna see each other," Josh countered, "I gotta use what material I got while I still got an audience I know it's good on."

"He's got a point," Nick said as he wrapped an arm around Tamyra's waist and pulled her in close, "but that don't matter now, let's enjoy the ride, yeah?"

As the two exchanged a soft kiss, Tamyra's sarcastic look melted into a genuine smile as she spoke up, "You know, I think that might just be the best idea of all good ideas I've heard yet."

"You guys are disgusting," Josh said, getting no more of a response from the duo than a rather emphatic middle finger from Nick. _Disgusting, absolutely disgusting. Then again, they're getting some and you're not, so who should really be complaining here?_

Sighing at the fact that he no longer held such a captive audience, Josh looked over the crowd to watch the rest of the bus' occupants. _So many cliques, so many clichés, hell, put in a few more jocks and nerds and it'd be the perfect teen sex comedy, instead it's the last night we'll see each other. Ah well, it all evens out in the end, don't it? Just have a good time, some nice peace and quiet and-_

"CAN WE CHANGE THIS HIPPIE CRAP FER THE LOVE OF GOD!" Mike V. yelled from the back, "PLAY SOME REAL MUSIC!"

Revving the bus' engine as he finally closed the doors, Ben calmly and quickly rolled through the radio stations one playing some 80's hard rock.

"_...ain't got nothing I would rather do; going down, party time, my friends are gonna be there too, I'm on a Highway to Hell!"_

"NOW THAT'S MY KIND OF MUSIC!" Mike yelled again as he retreated back to his seat, laughing maniacally at his negotiating skills while most of the people surrounding him looked mortified. Joel simply sucker punched his friend in the kidney to knock him back into his seat. More than a few laughed, while even more didn't even give a damn what Mike V. was doing because, well, he was Mike V. Kicking the bus into gear, Ben deftly drove the vehicle out onto the street to the tune of fifty cheering teenagers.

"We're really doing this!" Tamyra said optimistically, "We're really going to Grad Nite!"

* * *

Checking the rear view mirror as he rounded a corner, Ben got a quick survey of the students and teacher. Everyone was busy talking, laughing, making out, playing games or doing their best to get some quick sleep before the night's festivities. Sure enough, it would be a long night and one that would be remembered for a long time... _too bad none of these kids would be the ones doing the remembering._

Sighing softly, Ben pulled the privacy curtain across his back to hide him from the view of the rest of the bus' occupants. Cracking out a sore spot in his neck, he reached into the glove compartment and withdrew a Government Issue gas mask, pulling it deftly over his head in a practiced move. Lord knew it'd come in handy once they started pumpin in that knockout gas...

"It's gonna be one helluva night," he muttered to himself with a wry laugh.


	3. Superstar

**Superstar**

The boy didn't know much other than the fact that his head felt fit to split. His eyes were closed and he never wanted to open them again, they just felt all sorts of raw. It was just... pain. Pain pure and simple. It was a headache that he didn't know was even possible. Shifting his head's position even more, he could only groan. _Sleep, I wanna just get some sleep, I'm asleep right now. I gotta be asleep. Man, how could I be asleep in a bus like that? What the hell man? This isn't right man, this isn't, what the hell? I miss Grad Nite? It already happen and I miss it? Man Tamyra, you gotta wake me up next time, jeez!_

Feeling moisture on his right cheek, the youth experimentally moved his cheek. _Aaah crap, I fell asleep in my own drool. Yeesh, not again. I didn't, what the hell, I didn't fall asleep here, did I? If I fell asleep on the bus I'd be on the bus, this isn't the bus, what the hell, this isn't the bus, is it?_

With a slight electronic squeal and the pops and squeaks of an aged record player ringing sharply in his ears, the boy was flung to full attention. With eyes and temples aching as he sat up abruptly in the desk, Nick Savini, a.k.a. Boy # 25, grabbed his head in his hands. Somewhere off in the distance, it seemed very far away, music was playing, something peaceful, something old, maybe a bit folky like Ben liked to play. It made the headache feel just the slightest bit better.

"_Long ago, and oh so far away; I fell in love with you before the second show..."_ the song droned eerily in his ears.

With more than a little bit of the pain subsided, Nick opened his eyes with greater strength and looked about his new location. If he knew where he was, he'd have likely been filled with pure fear, but more than anything else the boy was confused. The room was laid out... like a classroom. _Chalkboard, television, desks, it's a classroom all right... but looks like it's been bombed._ The chalkboard that made up much of the front wall was faded and cracked, years upon years of abuse from chalk and eraser alike clearly apparent. The television before them seemed as old as anything he'd ever seen, _probably a black and white job, real relic that thing is..._

"_Your guitar it sounds so sweet and clear..."_ the song continued. Looking about even more, what nervousness Nick possessed quickly gave way to fear. The room itself was built for war, that much was certain. Solid concrete walls all around, completely featureless with no windows. On either side of the room on opposite ends of the chalkboard lay what appeared to be a doorway deeply set into the wall. Harsh fluorescent lighting buzzed from above, keeping them illuminated.

"_But you're not really here; it's just the radio..." _the song nearly taunted from those aged speakers next to those cameras in the corners of the ceiling. Looking around to the class, Nick caught a sight that seemed to stop his heart entirely. Everyone, everybody was just... knocked out cold in a desk. Everyone was propped out or slumped over one of those damned dirty desks, and... there were lights. There were lights at everyone's waists. Small rows of tiny, blinking lights, like LED's on a large silver band.

Looking down at his own waist, still not entirely understanding the situation, Nick saw that he too had a heavy silver band wrapped around his body. A thin row of green LED's illuminated themselves at regular intervals, and overall the belt seemed to be rather tight without being stifling.

"_Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby..."_

Feeling the rather oppressive shape of the belt with both hands, Nick experimentally pulled on it. Nothing, not a problem, the lights stayed the same. _It's nothing, just nothing, you know, this is fucking weird, you don't know what the fuck is going on, but this'll work itself out, just, keep cool, keep cool..._

"_You said you'd be coming back again this way baby..."_

Inching his thumbs under the edge of the belt, Nick tried to pull it over his hips. Stretching the metal band ever so slightly, he was caught off guard as an electronic beep emanated from the belt. It tightened mechanically, the green lights turning yellow as they began flashing. Faster and faster they flashed, and without even knowing why, Nick's eyes went wide. _This can't be good._

"_Baby baby baby baby oh baby, I love you..._

BAM!

With the explosive blast of more than two dozen coils of primer cord wrapped inside his belt, Nick Savini was blown in half at the waist.

With the shuddering explosion, everyone in the room was jolted awake. Having been assigned a seat next to him and bathed thoroughly in the boy's blood, Tammy Farrell, a.k.a. Girl # 9, took a moment to fully realize what had gone on. Seeing the fat coils of bloody snakes escaping from the boys ruined stomach as the lower half of his body fell away in the desk beside her, she found herself with more confusion than anything else. Feeling the hot liquid on her skin and looking to her red-stained hands, the girl promptly screamed an impossibly high pitched scream.

"JESUS CHRIST!" someone yelled.

"What the hell?"

"What is this?"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"Motherfuck!"

"Don't touch your belt!"

"God damn, what the hell is this place?"

"What the fuck?"

"Where are we?"

Turning desks on end, dozens of students knocked each other about as they tried to figure out what in all was going on. Many of the girls were crying, screaming or simply shuddering in their seats as they tried to figure out what was going on. Much as they would not liked to have admit it any other day, more than a few of the guys were doing the same as they saw the front of the room filled with blood and gore. Disturbingly enough, there were even a few students who sat silently in their desks nodding softly as if they already understood what was going on. Though most of the students were looking about confusedly and letting fear take them over, this jaded minority had already put its mind into gear as to what needed to be done.

Stumbling around in the back of the room with what felt like a hangover (but more than anything else seemed to be a rapidly decreasing headache), Tamyra Carpenter, a.k.a. Girl # 13, was in a state of numbness second to none. _All right, not, we're not on the bus, this is just some dream, just some incredibly, incredibly, vivid dream, right, all right, I can make sense of this, everyone's not screaming, everyone's not looking at the blood, is that blood? That's not blood, it can't be blood. Just, don't look at it, wait, where's Nick?_

"Nick?" Tamyra asked in an attempt to make sense of the situation. Her words fell upon almost deaf ears as the room was overtaken by the din of nearly fifty confused teenagers. Some of the braver ones began beating on the metal doors on either side of the room, while more than a few were ignoring that one spot towards the front of the room that appeared to be the site of a big red bomb of paint. _Somebody's going to have an awfully big cleaning bill after this one, yesiree._

"Nick?" she asked again upon deaf ears, "where's Nick? Has anyone seen Nick?"

She tried her best to force her way through the crowd with little luck, as the group of her classmates surged and roiled about the room like a large group of chickens with their heads cut off.

"Move over!" Gervase Rockwell, a.k.a. Boy # 24, hollered as he lifted one of the desk's above his head and approached the door on the right side of the room. Swinging the clumsy bludgeon, his body shuddered as the implement bounced off the metal door. Nevertheless, it did make something of a difference as the thin metal dented with a distinct echoing on the other side.

Forced through the surging crowd toward the front of the room, Tamyra found her feet taken from under her by something unbelievably slick. Collapsing to the floor with the air sucked from her lungs, the girl looked to the ceiling in a daze. _Come on, just get things together here, everyone's screaming, this will make sense, just, just give it a second._

Letting her eyes drift downward, Tamyra caught sight of some familiar black locks.

"Nick!" she exclaimed excitedly. Sitting up from her prone position, Tamyra couldn't help but express confusion. Nick's face was vacant and empty, his eyes staring off into space as he sat propped up in his desk. The red that seemed to splatter the room radiated from his direction, and Tamyra could only stare into his surprisingly clean face. Letting her eyes drift downward, everything in her world seemed to disappear.

Although he appeared to be sitting up straight in his desk, it would only be because his corpse had naturally fallen that way. From the waist on down he was just a ragged mess of blood and gore, the lower half of his body laying contorted on the floor amidst a pile of innards that were beginning to stink up the room mightily. With eyes trained upon one of his remarkably clean white sneakers, Tamyra couldn't help but watch as his foot twitched.

Again.

"NICK!" Tamyra cried out uncontrollably as she jumped to her still-sitting boyfriend's side, "GOD, OH GOD, NICK!"

With another strike against the door to the bunker's door, Gervase's eyes shot wide open like a bug that had just been stepped upon. With the desk flung from his hand, the boy was knocked across the room in a sheen of sparks.

"Jesus, it's electrocuted!"

"NICK, GOD, NICK!"

"Let's get the hell out of here!"

"SOMEBODY, WE'VE GOT TO HELP NICK!"

"How in the hell do we do that?"

"NICK!"

"What the hell?"

"JESUS, NICK!"

Rolling about on the ground in distinct pain, Gervase could only cough out a muted, "Fuck."

With most everyone's attention diverted to the chaos, Gervase, the screaming and the increasing stench of Nick's uncoiling bowel, only perhaps half a dozen managed to notice that the metal door on the left side of the room slid open with a rusted squeal. A tall, wavering figure stepped through as the door squealed shut again. It walked with more than a little bit of a limp, dragging a foot that seemed awkwardly out of place as it kept to the shadows near the chalk board.

"Excuse me!" it said in a bellowing, masculine voice. Some turned their attention towards the figure, but most were still caught up enough in the situation to be numb to any other stimuli that could be added.

"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME," Tamyra wailed uncontrollably, "PLEASE, NICK!"

"EXCUSE ME!" the figure said more emphatically, his voice bouncing off the back of the room yet still not enough to drown out any of the screaming that the girls had to offer. Lifting a hand into the air, the thundering boom of a heavy pistol cut everyone off.

"NICK!" Tamyra continued over the din of the other screams.

"EXCUSE ME!" the figure said as it stepped clear from the shadows. To many, it appeared as if a monster had materialized from the darkness. Instead it was Mr. Rhodes, and for lack of a better word, he was a mess. In his right hand he held a heavy revolver, an odd thing considering the fact that he was usually a lefty, but probably explained by the fact that it appeared as if two of the fingers on his left hand had been cut off and the rest were broken and stained a distorted purple. Blood nearly permeated all his clothing, while bruises snaked their way across every bit of exposed skin. His face was almost completely unrecognizable given the swelling, and coupled with the missing teeth, the man almost appeared to be a zombie.

"I was told, told to," Mr. Rhodes said with a booming, bloody cough, "I was told to welcome you here to the-"

"NICK, PLEASE, SOMEBODY, NICK!" Tamyra wailed as she tearfully broke down at the remains of her boyfriend's side.

Looking up with eyes that mixed somewhere between irritation and pity, Mr. Rhodes raised the gun in his right hand and leveled it off at Tamyra. Pulling the trigger with another loud pop, a small red hole appeared directly over Tamyra's heart. Two more holes quickly followed in her neck and head as her cries were silence and red sprayed every which way. Sitting directly behind the now prone Tamyra, Tammy was doused in even more blood and screamed out violently.

"Now," Mr. Rhodes said almost mechanically over the room's deafening silence, "if you would all take your seats and keep quiet until you are told to speak this will go over a lot more easily. I don't want to do that again, but I will if I have to. Trust me when I say that here, the lucky ones of you will die first."

With low murmurs of fear and hesitation throughout the room, everyone did their best to take the desk they originally had woken up in, though most who got out of their seats took whichever one came closest. Turning the aged desk back on its end and sliding back into place, Gervase tried to ignore the slight burns upon his palms. Putting the pistol into its holster on his chest, Mr. Rhodes painfully pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and unfolded it the best he could.

"On behalf of the United States Justice Department: Entertainment Division, I would like to welcome all of you to... The Third Annual United States Battle Royale!"

With even more screams from the girls (and more than a few of the guys), Mr. Rhodes continued on mechanically, "You have been chosen as the special class this year to represent the great state of California, and since past competitions from Massachusetts and Texas have been abysmal failures, we are hoping you will prove to be more worthy of the competition."

With silence reigning in the room, Mr. Rhodes chose to let his words sink in carefully. More than anyone else, he wanted to be here doing this job least. They had beaten him, tortured him beyond the limits that any person should go through, and yet he still relented in the favor of his students. It took certain... motivation for him to finally agree.

He was ready to continue when the one voice of protest that everyone knew shot above the crowd.

"Why us?" class president Anna Rourke, a.k.a. Girl # 7 interjected as she stood up from her desk. As class president, captain of the swim team (and leader of the Swim Six clique), editor of the school newspaper and president of the Students for a Democratic Society club, she was perhaps the most well known, respected and feared student among the Braiwood High School graduating class. Though she was often rather rough when it came to the personal side of issues, garnering herself The Ice Queen as her nickname, she had a certain eloquence and natural speaking ability that came to her. As well, she was a powerfully political revolutionary, fighting for students rights in a time when most schools were more willing to toss teenagers to the side than they were to fix the problem. Whatever she wanted to get done she would get done no matter what it took. Many looked up to her as she stood above the class. Yes, if anyone could talk us out of this, it'd be Anna! She'll figure something out!

"Why us out of all the classes in all the school's out there?" Anna asked rather callously, "Certainly there were more problem schools than us who could deserve this treatment more than we do. Schools of troublemakers that would fit more in line with this experiment in social justice."

With a pained sigh, Mr. Rhodes replied, "This assignment was done entirely at random Ms. Rourke, if I knew any reasoning beyond that I assure you, you would know it. Our school was chosen entirely at random from the thousands of public high schools in California, from the cleanest of the clean to the bowels of humanity."

"Public high schools?" Anna retorted ironically, "You mean this is a situation where the big spenders can get their kids out of it simply by putting them in pri-"

Raising his gun level with the forehead of the class president, Mr. Rhodes got her to quiet down.

"This generation's youth have already messed up the world they've been given. The vast majority of violent crimes these days involve individuals aged fourteen to twenty-five, so don't say there's no merit in this game's use as a punishment because it does it's purpose. I don't want to kill any more people than I have to, just because I'm up here doesn't mean I don't like any of you, but I have been told to use deadly force when necessary to make sure we meet the deadline."

Pointing to the back of the room with his pistol, Mr. Rhodes made notice of the clock that most had either ignored or missed entirely. Twelve minutes to midnight.

"At midnight this game will begin, and as it is we are already running behind schedule," Mr. Rhodes said with an explosive cough, "but before that you are to watch an instructional video on how to properly fight in a Battle Royale."

With the room in utter silence aside from the occasional whimpering of a girl and more than a few individuals crying, Mr. Rhodes hobbled on over towards the aged audio-visual setup. Reaching to a rusted metal rack beneath the television set, Mr. Rhodes withdrew a video tape and pushed it into the VCR. Taking in a breath, the aged teacher pressed the play button.

**

* * *

Transcript of Instructional Video: "How To Properly Fight a Battle Royale! ™©®"**

**

* * *

**

(STATIC AND SNOW.)

(FBI WARNING.)

(Bouncy music plays as the video fades in on a cartoony forest background.)

ANNOUNCER (VO): Hey children, who's your favorite big green rabbit?

CHILDREN (VO): Benny!

ANNOUNCER (VO): That's right, three time Emmy award winner Benny in association with The United States Justice Department: Entertainment Division is proud to bring you...

(The title flies onscreen in big, puffy letters. As it fades away, in bounds a man in a large green rabbit suit with an unbelievably cartoony smile and big, silly eyes. Children cheer offscreen as he bounds into the center of the frame. He speaks like Barney would if he were into acid. Whimsical bouncy music accompanies him whenever onscreen.)

BENNY: Hey kiddies!

CHILDREN (VO): Hey Benny!

BENNY: Well, I'm here to congratulate all of you watching this video from Braiwood High School! You're the lucky class chosen for this year's Battle Royale! Congratulations!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

BENNY: Now I'm here to explain the rules to you. Listen up so you'll learn to fight right and with gusto. You've been placed on this abandoned island...

(A computerized 3-D image of the island appears over Benny as he describes it.)

BENNY (VO, cheerful): It's about ten square miles of dense forests, hills and oceanfront jagged cliffs! Nobody's been here for at least thirty years, so you can tear it up all you'd like! You can even scream as loud as you want to since nobody's around to hear you!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

BENNY (VO, cheerful): The island is divided up into many zones for the sake of navigation, but unlike previous games they will not be used to indicate Danger Zones. I'll explain more of that later. Every six hours we will have a special guest star announcing the names of your classmates who have died, as well as awarding... a special prize!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

(The map fades away as Benny jumps back onscreen.)

BENNY: That's right kiddies! People watching the game on TV will have the special opportunity to vote on their favorite kill every six hours, and the person who wins the vote will receive a special prize as well as extra ammunition for whatever weapon they were assigned!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

BENNY: Now, what will give you the chance to win a prize? Well, how about we have a volunteer to help me explain!

(A teenage male actor/model walks onscreen.)

TEEN MODEL 1: Hey, is this all right to put on my résumé?

(Benny pauses for a moment before lifting a pistol from the ground, putting it to the Teen Model 1's head and pulling the trigger at point blank range. Blood and brain matter sprays every which way as a light mist settles on Benny's bright green fur. Teen Model 1 collapses to the floor after standing for a moment more.)

(Stunned silence.)

BENNY: You could go killing like that, but it's soooo boooooring!

CHILDREN (VO): Booooooooooooo!

BENNY: Now, if you want to win, you have to really make it special and enjoyable, like this!

(Dropping his gun, Benny picks up a pair of hedge clippers from the floor and walks on over to another teenage male actor/model who's turned in the opposite direction and speaking on his cell phone.)

TEEN MODEL 2: Look, I'm tired of doing this kid's show crap, when am I going to get a real jo-

(Benny lifts the hedge clippers over his head and rams them through Teen Model 2's chest, putting his foot on the model's back and kicking off so he can pull the clippers free before ramming them in again repeatedly. The Teen Model falls to the floor as Benny repeatedly strikes with the hedge clippers as blood and gore fly all over Benny and the cartoon forest background. As he opens and closes the hedge clippers with a particular glee and an audible off screen snap, Benny lifts free the model's severed head.)

BENNY (cheerful): Now that's how you do it if you want to get the people to love you!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

(Benny tosses the head against the forest backdrop as it leaves a mark on the wall. Seemingly oblivious of the fact that he's now more red than green, Benny continues.)

BENNY: Now, about the belts you're wearing! Just so you know, they're 100 waterproof and shockproof and permanent! It monitors your vital signs, informing us of your location and movements. It even has a microphone so the people at home will hear what you're saying so they can get into the adventure! So if you wander into a danger zone, or cause trouble, we can identify you, and transmit radio waves that trigger an alarm and boom! It explodes! We can find you anywhere with the radio signals too, even if you try and dig a hole it will get to you and explode! If you swim out into the ocean past the line of buoys, it will explode! If you try to rip it off, it explodes too, so promise not to try that, OK?

(Benny dances part of the way around the forest until he reaches a new area.)

BENNY: Oh, I forgot one important thing! There's a time limit on this game! 3 days. If we haven't got a winner after three days, all the belts automatically explode! And no one wins.

CHILDREN (VO): Booooooooooooooo!

BENNY: As a new rule though, we are not using random Danger Zones to move you around the island. No, as long as you all play nice and hardy the Danger Zones will remain at the starting bunker and radio tower, but that's it! However, if more than one of you makes it to Day Three, at nine pm all areas except the grid around the starting bunker will become Danger Zones, so no one can just hide out and hope to avoid the game! If you do, everyone will explode! As long as we're here, let's fight hard so that doesn't happen!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

(Dancing more through the cartoon forest as whimsical music plays in the background, Benny comes upon a table with gear set out upon it.)

BENNY: Each of you will be leaving the room one by one in a randomly assigned order, but first you get a brand new backpack!

(He motions to each of the items on the table as he points it out. Holding up the backpack, he shows his name stenciled on in big letters.)

BENNY: This one says Benny! I feel so special! Inside is enough food and water to last three days, a pouch with a map, compass, pen and student list, a flashlight, any personal effects you may have brought on the ride over and of course your randomly assigned weapon! Like many of the advantages and disadvantages we may have in life, these will all be done totally at random!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

BENNY: Each weapon is different too. Not just guns and knives, either. It's random, so maybe you'll get lucky, maybe not. One of you will get mega-lucky and find yourself with a bonus second weapon in your pack!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

(Benny holds up a massive, slightly rusted chainsaw.)

BENNY: Mine is super lucky!

(He revs up the ancient weapon as sparks shoot every which way from it.)

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

BENNY: OK, you'll all be leaving here in a few minutes by randomly assigned number alternating between boys and girls. When your name is called, you will have twenty seconds to make it out of the bunker and into the game! The last one standing gets to live and a hearty cash prize! But most importantly, just remember to be yourselves.

(Beat.)

BENNY (more cheerful): All right, now let's get this show on the road! I've had a great time here today with you kids, but I can't wait to watch you in the game! Have fun!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

(As Benny waves to the camera, cheery children's show style music begins to play at a super-saccharine pace as the blood-spattered, bright green rabbit begins to dance along to it. As he sings, the words appear at the bottom of the screen with a bouncing Benny head illuminating each word as it comes up.)

BENNY: _I kill you,_

_Before you kill me!_

_We want you_

_To make fatalities!_

_You can run and you can gun,_

_But in the end we'll have lots of fun!_

Come on kiddies, sing it with me!


	4. Hour 0: 48 Contestants Remaining

Hour 00

48 Contestants Remaining

The students had a difficult time comprehending the fact that they actually had to sing along with the song, but as Mr. Rhodes waved his gun about, he began to bellow, "Come on, LOUDER, FASTER!"

The grim chorus that had formed of the forty-eight surviving members of the Braiwood High School graduating class sang the bouncy, cheerful song of death and destruction if only to be able to ignore the fact that there were two decomposing bodies in the room with them. More than a few people sang the song's cheesy lyrics through choked tears, while a couple even couldn't hold back and just vomited all over the floor.

Soon enough however, the music faded into silence and the video's harshly bright colors into blackness. As the TV rolled over into a burst of loud static, Mr. Rhodes achingly ejected the tape and once again stood before the class. Reciting his words in a monotone that belied their scripted nature, he let but one tear fall down his cheek.

"And with our video concluded, this game is almost ready to begin," Mr. Rhodes continued, "I will now turn over the Master of Ceremonies duty to our special guest host who will guide you through the rest of your adventure. Remember everyone, it is your duty to fight with bravado and much gusto, and we assure you you'll all be famous in no time!"

With a bellowing cough, the aged teacher looked mournfully towards his class of students. With hands shaking, he stood in place looking much like he didn't want to be where he was doing what he had to do.

"I'm sorry guys," he whispered as he traced a cross along his chest with the revolver, "I really am. They... they have my family."

Putting the barrel of the gun in his mouth, Jim Rhodes fired his gun's last shot through the back of his head. With a spray of blood and brain against the chalkboard and his rapidly twitching body collapsed to the floor, more screams were elicited from the class than ever before. From respected and well-liked teacher to murdering madman to dead body, very few had expected that paths like that even existed, especially from someone as kind and funny as Mr. Rho-

With a blaring squeal of static, the rusted loudspeakers at each of the room's corners crackled to life and brought everyone from what fugue they may have fallen into.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING BATTLE ROYALE!"

The voice was unmistakable. Anyone and everyone who lived within the Braiwood city limits knew that voice. It was none other than JJ Squalls, disc jockey at the local classic rock station and one of the most popular of small town celebrities. If anyone needed a laugh, simply turning the radio his way would make life all that much easier. Feeling low? Send a song request his way and he'd be more than willing to oblige. Nearly every graduating senior had lost their virginity to a song request to JJ Squalls, so the fact that he was now going to preside over their deaths made the situation ever the more surreal.

"Hey, hello and howdy hi to all you kids out there in radio land," the DJ said with remarkably cheerful glee, "this is JJ Squalls your eyes in the sky. Funny thing happened to me the other day, the United States Government comes knocking at my door for something other than child support payments, and they offer me a wheelbarrow full of money to come up and do some voiceover work for them. I kid you not, they seriously came up to me with a wheelbarrow full of money, I didn't even know people did that, and you know what, I gotta say that's one helluva lot of money. I mean, it's not nearly the prize money that one of you lucky kids is going to get at the end of the game here, but that's beside the point. In a coupla minutes here this game will be beginning in earnest, and just for those of you who are curious, the pay-per-view audience is already watching and the numbers are higher than ever! Congratulations!"

Although dull silence reigned over the room, the canned sound effect of an audience's applause was piped in through the speakers, "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about, now, before we get this game underway in full, does anybody have any questions? Since this is the last time most of you will have contact with someone who knows what's going on, you might as well ask now, or forever hold your peace."

With silence overtaking the room, nobody really expected anyone to say anything. Honestly, what more was there to be said that hadn't already? They were all going to kill each other, none of them were going to live more than three days, they were all strapped with high explosives, right, that just about seemed to sum it up, didn't it?

Nobody expected the sound of a thick southern drawl to overtake the room.

"When does this game start?" Gus O'Ryan, a.k.a. Boy # 20, asked honestly. Wiry yet muscular and decked out in a surprisingly bright orange t-shirt, Gus' question caught many off guard. To most of the senior class of Braiwood High School, hearing a question from Gus of all people was surprising to say the least. He was a redneck through and through, having moved around the southwest most of his life with his parents and spending a lot of time around the deserts near Barstow. Most people knew him as a borderline alcoholic and something of a druggie, nothing really to be afraid of.

To those who did know him well enough, the question seemed to be just downright frightening. While many of the lower class, "redneck", families seemed to get their kicks watching police chases and professional wrestling, Gus had converted just a matter of years ago towards anything and everything Battle Royale related. Illegal cable hookups had allowed him to watch some of the competitions that France and Japan had held, and immediately the boy was hooked. It was a competition like no other, a true death sport, no choreography, no storylines, just lots and lots of violence and lots of lots of blood. He wasn't a truly violent person, but given his knowledge and affinity towards the game as it was, it was more than a little disconcerting.

"The game begins..." JJ said over the loudspeaker, "the moment you leave this room. You will be released one at a time in twenty-second intervals through the door to your right where your backpacks will be made available to you. Anyone else?"

"My father..." Lisa Pickford, a.k.a. Girl # 3, interjected, "my father owns Cynacorp, they make the operating systems the government uses, why... why was I taken here?"

In stark contrast to Gus' question, Lisa's interjection was more than expected. With a nearly white mane of blonde hair and mild acne that would just never seem to go away, Lisa was much more beautiful in her own mind than she was to anyone in the outside world. She was rich blood, her father owning a large computer company that had just recently gone public and had even more recently gone through a major and public government contract. Of all people, Lisa was more confused than anything else. She wasn't supposed to be here, no, that's just not how it works, isn't it?

"You were on the wrong damn bus, that's why," JJ said, "bitching about the why's isn't going to get you anywhere when it's the what-am-I-doing-next that's going to be important."

A strange thundering sound suddenly overcame the room. Coming from outside the door to the right, it was an oddly repetitive sound, two loud bangs followed by a rapid clap. Repeated over and over again it had an odd synchronicity to it that the few who were aware of it found reminiscent of the opening beats of _We Will Rock You._

"Well kiddies, you and I all know what that means," JJ said over the loudspeakers with particular glee, "it means this game's just about ready to begin! It means you're going to start the killing and blood spilling! Remember to make this one a good show though, lots of people are tuning in and, well, as you all know you can't spell slaughter without laughter!"

With a metallic squeal, the door slid open. From there, the thudding sound only got louder, blasting and pounding with regularity.

"And without further adieu, let's get this moving. First up to bat... Boy Number One, Carter James!"

* * *

As the first boy announced, Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, couldn't truly comprehend everything that was going on around him. He'd known what he had seen, but in some detached part of his brain he wasn't quite sure if what he'd seen had been real or if it were some vivid, intangible out of body experience. Like Anna, he too was a member of the Students for a Democratic Society Club, but while her beliefs tended to be on the militant side, his were more skewed towards peace and equality. His stance on non-violence was strong enough that given a sense of irony, he'd have more than likely realized that he was the worst person for the game, but alas he had little opportunity to think it over. With his feet moving as if they weren't even attached, he made his way up from the desk and bounded on through the sliding metal door.

As the door slid shut behind him, the source of the rhythmic thumping became all too clear. He was in a corridor, maybe thirty yards long give or take, and each side lined with soldiers in riot gear. The first two sharp beats came from the soldiers slamming their clear shields into the ground twice, while the sharp clap was from each of their batons hitting their protection in unison. _We will rock you, really, this is it, isn't it?_

The nearest soldier threw an olive-drab backpack at his feet, and getting the cue, Carter broke as much from his fugue as could be done given the circumstances and began to run down the hallway. _Twenty seconds, not enough time, not, no, just run..._

With the hallway seeming longer with every step, the boy continued on, doing his best to outright sprint and ignoring the fact that he was woefully out of shape. The end of some long device, probably his weapon, banged against the back of his neck and began to hurt with every step, but just trying to get out before the next person was released, he was more than willing to ignore the ache. At the end of the hall there was a rectangle of white light. _The exit, almost there..._

Reaching the bright light at the end of the tunnel, Carter exited the bunker and found himself in the middle of an overgrown field. The area was flat for the most part, a hundred yard square clearing in the middle of a dense jungle. Towering trees choked thickly with vines and leaves walled the pasture in, while overgrown weeds and other plant life seemed to permeate the clearing itself. Bright white flood lights illuminated the immediate fifty yards or so, but beyond that it was pure darkness. Confused and more than a bit fearful, the boy disappeared around the edge of the bunker and hoped for the best.

* * *

"Next up... Boy # 3, Blake Morrow!" the loudspeaker croaked cheerfully. Sitting in his desk with a scowl that could have torn most anyone's face in half, Blake was more furious than anything else. While the emotion that embraced most of the contestants was fear, his overriding passion was anger, pure and simple. A good half dozen or so of his classmates taken into the game were members of the Students for a Democratic Society Club, and although Anna was perhaps their most charismatic speaker, Blake was easily the most fiery. He was a strong advocate for students rights in a time when they were rapidly disappearing, and in a country where speaking out against its actions could result in execution, he was the member of the Braiwood High School graduating class most ardently against the Battle Royale Act.

"Boy # 3, Blake Morrow, get your ass in gear or find it separated from your spine," JJ practically cheered over the loudspeakers. Half of him wanted to just get this all over with, just out and out die and stick it to those assholes in charge. Feeling his legs take over his better judgment, Blake knew that the survival instinct had taken over. It always would. He'd watched Carter, Lori, that nerd guy Doug and that library girl disappear through with varying levels of hesitance, and knowing that those that would follow would take the game on with particular fervor, he got himself into gear. _Besides, just one more dead body in a bunker won't do any good, what good you gotta do... you gotta do out there._

Making his way to the side door, Blake turned his attention towards the camera in the corner.

"Fuck you," he said simply, "I hope you all just rot and die."

Nevertheless, he made no scene as he entered the hallway and made his way into the game, even if more than a few expected him to go kicking and screaming. In fact, if anything, despite being part of a generation known for its defiance, most of the students left rather apathetically, even if it was just a guise for pure, unadulterated fear. Lisa, Homer, Katherine, AJ, Ashley, Josh (not even the slightest bit fazed by the fact that his two best friends and favorite teacher lay dead just ten feet away from him), Brynn and Jackson left in a quick succession without even the mildest clue of any muss or fuss.

Anna Rourke, a.k.a. Girl # 7, found her name called shortly after Jackson and had an oddly subdued look about her that most found to be a bit odd. If anyone, _anyone_, was going to throw up a big fuss about this game, if anyone was going to make waves, it would have to be Anna. Their hopes, or at least expectations, were soon dashed as the class president and wannabe revolutionary calmly and collectedly made her way to the front of the room towards the door. On her way out, she flashed the slightest of peace signs to the watching camera before taking her sprint down the miracle mile.

As the game progressed, those who found themselves further down the list who had the presence of mind around them to do some thinking already set about making their plans. Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23, was already setting about whispering to his friends about setting up a potential meet and greet just outside the bunker. Ayane Fujikawa, a.k.a. Girl # 14, too craned her neck around to a couple friends about making a rendezvous. With one of their crew already out and waiting in the bushes, it would only be a matter of time before they were all reunited...

* * *

Tammy Farrell, a.k.a. Girl # 8, heard her name called but didn't quite make the connection between her ears and her mind. If anything, she was uncertain that she even had a name at that point. For Tammy, the whole world seemed to disappear out from under her and exist only in the most vacant of shells. Clinically, she had gone into a catatonic state, while most anyone who laid eyes upon her would have recognized that she had gone off the deep end shortly after being doused with blood.

With Luke out the door just before her scheduled departure, Tammy was practically forced from her seat by those who sat around her. Nobody wanted to see any more blood shed within the bunker. She stumbled about, finding the door only as it became a pillar of bright white light upon sliding open.

She picked up a backpack as if on instinct, her body working when the mind itself had completely turned inwards. The gauntlet of soldiers passed her by like a blur, the light reflecting off the soldier's plastic shields making it appear as if the hallway itself were a giant white blob. Stepping out into the jungle, she was vaguely aware of nature. This world felt... different. There were trees, there was wind, the sound of the insects was almost drowning. Off in the distance, some carrion bird let out with a loud crow. _You are dead, you are all dead, and this... this is hell._

A great force wrenched her feet from the ground and sent her sprawling with a painful thud. With wind sucked from her lungs, Tammy could only groan slightly as a powerful kick sent her rolling about in the grass.

Kneeling down over his recently fallen prey, Brian Pavell, a.k.a. Boy # 9, set about looking through the girl's pack for anything that may have vaguely resembled a weapon. A thug to the end and carrying with him what would generally be considered a violent disposition, Brian had absolutely no qualms about beating up Tammy and leaving her for dead. _Easy prey._

Looking through her bag as he practically tore the zipper open, the boy grimaced upon reaching in and pulling out her assigned "weapon."

"A calculator?" he mused, "A fucking calculator?"

Indeed it was a calculator, a powerful graphing one at that. Bigger than his hand and rather heavy, it had absolutely no value when compared to some of the firearms that were likely distributed. He discarded it in a pile of weeds in disgust, hoping more than anything else that his own pack offered a weapon with better luck.

"Hey!" a feminine voice struck out from behind, "Get off of her!"

Seeing the silhouette of a girl holding a rifle, Brian let his survival instinct take over his misogyny and ran off into the forest. Dora Janovec, a.k.a. Girl # 9, entered the Battle Royale holding her randomly assigned hunting rifle. With a girl prone at her very feet before her, the spirit of the game would have been more than enough to send anyone to make her their first easy kill. Instead, Dora swung the gun around on its sling over her shoulder and lifted Tammy off the ground.

"Come on!" Dora urged, "It's too early to be a sitting duck, come on!"

"Hey Dora," she heard from off to the side. Whirling about as she held the catatonic Tammy close, Dora looked up to see perhaps the friendliest face she could have expected given the circumstances. Hiding off in a patch of bushes near the base of an aged falling tree was none other than Brynn Sanchez, a.k.a. Girl # 6, a.k.a. one of Dora's best friends.

With things as bad as they were, the slightest bit of normality and community was a more than welcoming proposition. _Surrounded by your best friends, could be worse, right?_

Dora and Brynn, together with Ayane, Cheryl and Serenity made up one of the school's most tightly connected cliques and friendships. All were members of the cheerleading squad and were perhaps the most beautiful people in school. The guys wanted to be with them, while most of the girls were either jealous of them or wanted to be like them. Those who got in their way... well, those who got in their way tended to find hell a welcome substitute to high school. Brynn and Cheryl were more than capable of great cruelty, Ayane's brilliance and natural leadership led her to be a powerful and respected figurehead, while Serenity was just their vapid counterpart. Ever the charitable person, Dora often found herself at odds with everything that the other members of "The Brat Pack" (as Mr. Rhodes once dubbed them) stood for, but in the end she couldn't help but stand by them through thick and thin. _That's what friends are for._

Pushing Tammy off towards the bushes, Dora found Brynn looking her way confusedly.

"What's that?" Brynn asked with disgust.

"That," Dora responded emphatically, "is a person, and we're still people. We can't leave her behind."

"Whatever," Brynn responded with a roll of the eyes, "this is all just so fucked."

"Ayane's got an idea," Dora said quickly, "we're gonna, we're all gonna wait for each other and head off to find a safe building together, maybe if we just keep ourselves together and in one place we'll be able to think this out a lot better."

Keeping an eye out over the edge of the rotting log, Brynn didn't say anything for a long time. Jacob Escobar, a.k.a. Boy # 10, and Karen Peterson, a.k.a. Girl # 10, were the next two to go, and given the pure strength and predatory nature that each possessed, Brynn felt it was best to be quiet in the moment.

"Figure it out, or fish in a barrel?" Brynn mused.

As more students came to pass, the most truly frightening sight of the night thus far came to be in the form of the wiry Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12. To anyone and everyone who knew him, he was something of a movie geek, and by his strange nature he was scary enough. However, looking within his pack, the boy retrieved a clunky, awkward, and extremely deadly weapon. Yank starting the cord on the side of his chainsaw, the boy practically giggled with glee as it roared to life.

"Groovy," he said with great pride.

Brynn could only shiver at the sound.

* * *

Francisco Marquez, a.k.a. Boy # 22, by all rights should have been a force to be reckoned with within the confines of the Battle Royale. At just a couple inches over five and a half feet tall, he wasn't too imposing on first glance, but given the fact that his short stature belied a man of pure muscle, height was never really an issue for him. He had lived much of his life between Mexico and Los Angeles, and knew more than most people about the basics of street fighting. His strength was so great that he had even been nicknamed "Frank The Tank." And yet, despite it all when it came down to it, the boy did not believe he could truly fight in this game.

A devout Catholic, he believed in the value of human life above all else. True, he had no qualms about self defense, but believed that violence should be the last step in any given action. If it must come to violence, make sure that all other options have been exhausted. Between middle school and high school, he had only been in one fight, and that was to protect a nerd from the pummeling fists of Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23. In the entire course of school, he was the only person to have ever stood up to Joel and _won._

As the numbers within the room began to dwindle, he could only think back to what the fighting had been like. He did no want to, but for the preservation of his own life or for those who could not protect themselves, it may be more than necessary. Seeing those like Homer Brannick, a.k.a. Boy # 4, Brian Pavell, a.k.a. Boy # 9, and Peter Larkin, a.k.a. Boy # 14, go on out, he knew that there would be more than a few opportunists out there. _Those guys are going to make it forever in this thing if they go by the rules._ Even more evil was sure to follow, particularly if Joel and his gang were ever to get together. He tried not to think about that possibility. That was just scary enough in its own right, if they were to get together, they could very well just go out and sweep across this island like a plague.

There were just too many, too many who wouldn't be able to make it on their own, and for them Francisco was most afraid. Twin sisters Sky Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 18, and Lexie Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 20, sobbed uncontrollably as they hugged each other from adjacent desks. Just two seats over from Francisco, young lovers Rudy Daniels, a.k.a. Boy # 18, and Lindsay Hill, a.k.a. Girl # 23, held hands from adjacent desks. It was easy to tell that she wanted to bawl her eyes out, and that Rudy was the only thing that kept her from totally falling apart. Even as he got up and prepared to make his run from the door, he wrapped his arms around her neck and whispered into her ear.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too," she replied.

"I'll be waiting for you," Rudy said as he pointed to her and prepared to make a run for the door, "you hear me, I'll see you."

They could not break eyes, and Lindsay tried to say something. She could not get the words out, they caught in her throat, and without hearing another word from her Rudy could not force himself to leave. Trying to end the stalemate and prevent another classmate from being blown in half, Francisco spoke up.

"I'll watch out for her man," the boy interjected, "I'll watch out for her 'til she gets out, just get moving, aight?"

"Cool, thanks," Rudy said as he waved back to Francisco, "really, thank you man. I'll see you Linds, I'll see you soon."

Disappearing into the tunnel, he yelled out again, "I'M NOT GOING TO LEAVE YOU BEHIND!"

Seeing the lovers caught within this game took Francisco particularly hard. This wasn't a bunch of strangers caught within the game, this wasn't just some random people set about to kill each other like criminals on the street. These were people who grew up together, people who had known each other for decades, some who loved, and some... family. He watched as Sky Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 18 was torn away from her twin sister and almost wanted to cry as well. The twin sisters were practically bawling as the game ripped them apart, but as it was Francisco still had faith in them. The Hawk girls... they were tough.

The couples on the other hand, they might not have done too well for themselves as he mused. Sure, Carrie "CC" Collins, a.k.a. Girl # 17, was with Joel, but odds were the school jackass and jock would probably leave her behind. Lindsay was with Rudy, but it'd be hard to see if she would be an asset or if she would hold him back. Watching pseudo-hippie chick Eliza Mann, a.k.a. Girl # 19, step up and make her way towards the door, Francisco found himself betting on her to be the stronger one in that relationship. With someone like class stoner Jackson Brent, a.k.a. Boy # 7, as the love of her life, she may have been better off on her own. Then again, being as hopeless a romantic as he was, Francisco couldn't see them part.

"Next up we have none other than the other Hawk sister, Girl Number 20, Lexie Hawk!"

The less beautiful of the Hawk sisters went with little bawling and fanfare when compared to her sister, but was still visibly shaken as she set about her run into the hallway. Things were getting tight, and Francisco found his feet tapping faster and faster out of nervous energy. The sound of a liquid bouncing off of concrete caught his attention, and he didn't need to turn his head more than a few inches to realize that Gervase Rockwell, a.k.a. Boy # 24, had wet his pants. _Maybe he's the smart one, he let the fear get to him._ In quick succession, Michael and Marie disappeared into the bright light that was the exit hallway, and then he heard his name loud and clear.

"Boy Number 22, Francisco Marquez, come on down!"

Cracking his knuckles to make sure they still worked, Francisco passed by Lindsay's desk on his way out.

"You take care," he said calmly, "both of you."

"Thanks," she replied with a tear, "you too, just, thank you."

Looking past the willowy blonde to the large Italian boy sitting a few rows back, he couldn't help but feel unnerved by Joel's cocky grin. There was something definitely predatory, something... more than a little scary in that boys eyes. _Come on man, just get out of here, don't worry, just do it._

Tapping the doorframe on his way out, Francisco too disappeared into an unknown fate.

* * *

As each person left the room, Maxine Summers, a.k.a. Girl # 25, felt more and more nervous. The more time passed, the sooner death would be upon them. For all she knew, the first person out had simply picked everyone off one at a time with their weapon, maybe just stood up on the roof with a machine gun or crossbow or something and just took them out one by one. _Carter was the first one out though, he wouldn't do that. Then again, most of the first ones gone aren't bad people..._

"YEAH MAN, I GOT THIS ONE!" Joel cried out enthusiastically as his number was called. The athlete and all around jackass walked towards the door with a confident stride, jumping up and tapping the top of the door frame enthusiastically as he practically ran down the hall.

"We're fucked," Gervase said as he put his head in his hands, "we're fucked, we're so fucked, I mean, Jesus Christ, fuck, Jesus, look at this! He got out before us, I mean, fuck!"

Seeing Gervase break down frightened like a small child somehow struck Maxine as one of the most terrifying things she'd seen thus far. He'd always seemed to be the confident type, a ladies man, as the term went. Gervase was unflagging in his devotion to get into other girls pants, and his confidence in the face of insurmountable odds was always quite amazing. So, to see him break down like this, that had to be a sign of something sublimely wrong. Then again, it was because of Joel, and in the face of someone like Joel, well, damn near any reaction seemed to be pretty natural.

With Joel gone, Lindsay and then the terrified Gervase were soon to follow. With most of the class gone, cheerleader Maxine found herself alone with the demure Lara Drake, a.k.a. Girl # 24. Neither girl was truly the fighter or confrontational type, and given the nature of things that had come, neither of them stood the greatest chances of survival. Lara was a small girl, something of a prude, and just out of a bad relationship with Luke Wesson, a.k.a. Boy # 8 after finding out that he had been sleeping around with other girls and boys. She found out all too late that she was just another conquest to one of the school's biggest players. Maxine on the other hand... she was a cheerleader, and not one of the most athletic at that. She wasn't in poor shape, rather, when compared to the rest she was hardly an athlete. While they were all interested in their bodies, she was more interested in developing her mind, an admirable trait to many, but in the realm of the cheerleaders it made her something of an outcast. Well, that, and the other thing...

"Next up, Girl Number 24, Lara Drake!"

Stepping up from her damaged desk, Lara looked around the room with a certain level of fear. Despite it all though, a degree of anger also appeared to build within the girl. She turned to face Maxine girl to girl.

"Good luck," she said honestly, sprinting towards the exit and disappearing like a ghost. Just as quickly, Maxine found herself feeling very lonely. _Last one standing girl, you're the last one in this room, it's not all that bad, sure, someone might be out there, a hunter, anything, just watch out, just, keep it cool, keep it safe, you know what you're doing, you know what's going to happen, just think this one out coolly, calmly, and the situation will resolve itself. It won't be easy, but it will resolve itself..._

Squawking to life one last time, JJ cried out over the loudspeaker, "All right, since Boy Number 25, Nick Savini is, well, lying in two halves on the floor, that leaves you, Girl Number 25, Maxine Summers as the last one out. I know you may think you're out of luck, but, well, maybe you are. Have a nice day!"

Wiping a tear from her eye, Maxine stood up and tried to relish her last moments of guaranteed safety. _Guaranteed safety, yeah, right._ Looking about the room she found it to be nothing more than a menagerie of pain and suffering. Sprawled out on the floor like two perverse, zombie lovers, the corpses of Nick and Tamyra would be beautiful if they weren't so ugly. Mr. Rhodes, perhaps the kindest and funniest teacher Braiwood High School had ever known, lay dead just a matter of feet away, the back of his head missing as the pistol remained between his lips. Something in Maxine wanted to pull that gun out and give him some dignity, but in the end her survival instinct won out. _Get out of this room fast girl..._

Starting off in a soft jog towards the bright white light that was the exit, Maxine entered the future filled with uncertain fear.

Had most known of the sheer level of terror and depravity that was to follow, more than a few would have probably chosen to end their lives then and there within the room. Instead, they all began to take their part in the greatest pay-per-view event the United States had ever known.


	5. Class Roster

**Roster of Students taken from Phoenix Bus Lines Bus # 31**

**Braiwood High School Graduating Class of 2003**

B1: James, Carter

G1: Nicotero, Lori

B2: Rodgers, Doug

G2: Snyder, Katie

B3: Morrow, Blake

G3: Pickford, Lisa

B4: Brannick, Homer

G4: Farraday, Katherine

B5: Takagaki, AJ

G5: Vasquez, Ashley

B6: Peters, Josh

G6: Sanchez, Brynn

B7: Brent, Jackson

G7: Rourke, Anna

B8: Wesson, Luke

G8: Farrell, Tammy

B9: Pavell, Brian

G9: Janovec, Dora

B10: Escobar, Jacob

G10: Peterson, Karen

B11: Adrian, Bo

G11: Reese, Jenny

B12: Holt, Paul

G12: Powers, Serenity

B13: Vriess, Mike

G13: Carpenter, Tamyra

B14: Larkin, Peter

G14: Fujikawa, Ayane

B15: Hunter, Matt

G15: Jefferson, Naomi

B16: Raynor, Shane

G16: Palmer, Cheryl

B17: Myers, Damien

G17: Collins, Carrie "CC"

B18: Daniels, Rudy

G18: Hawk, Sky

B19: Anton, Geiger

G19: Mann, Eliza

B20: O'Ryan, Gus

G20: Hawk, Lexie

B21: Baxter, Michael

G21: Cooper, Marie

B22: Marquez, Francisco

G22: Norris, Elena

B23: Giovanello, Joel

G23: Hill, Lindsay

B24: Rockwell, Gervase

G24: Drake, Lara

B25: Savini, Nick

G25: Summers, Maxine


	6. Hour 1: 48 Contestants Remaining

Hour 1

48 Contestants Remaining

Running more than she ever had before in her life (and more than she ever thought she would ever again) Elena Norris, a.k.a. Girl # 22, stopped and bent over. She was wheezing horribly and coughing up what felt to be string cheese, not like that wasn't anything unusual of course. They always said get on the exercise bike, they always said watch what you eat. They always said a lot of things too. They were fat themselves, pigs. Don't blame it on the food, blame it on the heredity. Smiling, she coughed again and spat into some bushes. That's what you've always done, blame it on the family. They wanted you here. It was them, they set you up.

Right... just keep saying that and it might come true. Who are you kidding? It was all luck, plain and simple. Not really good luck, but luck of the draw that she wound up on the one bus that would lead itself into death.

With her flashlight in one hand and a screwdriver (what she had been assigned randomly as a weapon) in the other, Elena broke down branches that got in her way and stepped over tree roots that curled out of the ground.

Fat. That's what she'd always been called. The others, all of them thin, all of them models. All of them, normal. What fat did they have? None. She'd heard the names; she'd heard what they called her behind her backs, even if none of it was ever really said. It was all implied… Yes, implication, that was the key.

She paused slightly as she could hear distant gunshots. Could it be that it's already beginning? Was everyone really starting to get into the fighting? No, that couldn't be. We're good people, no one wants to really do this, right? Then again, there were some who probably would. Joel almost certainly had made a gang of him and his wrestling crew (they weren't the really pretty ones that Elena looked to spitefully, but they still weren't people to screw with). Peter was a criminal, a street racer and fighter, he'd have been a poor one to mess with; Jacob too. Then again, out here the gangs might have been the stronger way to go. Can't always trust someone, but better to trust someone than no one, right? Well, maybe not the Brat Pack. Of all the people who could be together but not likely to play the game, the Brat Pack ranked high on the list. They may not have been smart, but they were organized when they wanted to be. Then again, they were just bitches, they couldn't be murderers too, right?

Murder. Murder was the name of the game. Murder was the only way she could survive in this game. It was murder or be murdered. Murder's against the law though, even in our screwed up country, there's still some things against the law, right? Under most circumstances, yes, but self defense, that's legal, right? If everyone else is trying to kill you, killing one of them is, nothing, right? Self defense. Self defense all the way baby!

She kept psyching herself up. Self-defense is one thing, but when everyone else is stronger than you. The thought disturbed her, much like the death she knew to be imminent. Elena picked up the pace, faster and faster as branches and hanging vines cut at her skin and slowed her pace. Come on, just a little further, a little further!

As she ran through the darkness, she quite literally ran into Brian Pavell, a.k.a. Boy # 9, and knocked the both of them to the ground. He landed hard on his pack, now bulging with the food and water of two bags after having looted that Tammy girl's bag clean. She was an easy attack, practically catatonic as she stood out by the front door at the game's beginning. He only had to knock her down to take her bag, easy as that; a bit heavier on his back, but easy as that. The extra food and water was nice, but her weapon? A calculator? Fucking useless.

At least his was better stocked now than most people's. He now had MRE's and bottled water to keep thirst and hunger out of his mind, while the 9mm semi-automatic pistol he had received at the start was what he considered to be a great weapon.

After their collision, Elena lay sprawled out on the ground, looking about terrified as Brian held his gun on her. Looking at her, Brian saw nothing but a fat girl breathing heavily and carrying a screwdriver. Lousy weapon, lousy girl. She's no threat. Hardly worth one of the limited bullets in your gun. For a while, the two remained still, making no moves, never breaking eye contact. Brian kept his gun trained on the other contestant, ready for her to make a move that wouldn't come and ready to strike her should she even try. She remained still, terrified like a deer in headlights at the firearm trained to shoot her between the eyes.

With quick reflexes, Brian pounced upon the girl, repeatedly slamming the butt of his pistol into her forehead with a satisfying THOCK. Yeah bitch, you like that, don't you? Yeah, take it, lose it, just let it happen.

After the fifth impact, he watched as she dropped to the ground and consciousness left her body. Perfect, just perfect. Grabbing her backpack, he unzipped it and looked through its contents as he viewed the situation.

Numbers were the key. A lone person like Elena was no threat. He didn't worry about the individuals. He worried about the groups that were inevitably going to form or had already formed, the social cliques turned into teams of vigilante warriors. They would be the ones to prey upon the individuals like Elena, or him. They would prey upon the individuals and steal their supplies, making it so they wouldn't starve or dehydrate. Brian wanted the numbers on his side as he looked at it. By keeping as much food and water as he could to himself, he would keep it away from the groups, and they would turn upon themselves as soon as the hunger and dehydration hit. It was simple math.

Statistics had proven that hunger was a great source of irritation. Keep the groups hungry, and they'll be more likely to turn upon their own and kill each other. Simple as that. Not that Brian relied entirely on that though, oh no, he was ready, willing and able to make sure hunger and dehydration weren't the only causes of death out here. Quite the contrary, he was looking forward to seeing his pistol's capabilities in combat and taking lives... and their supplies of course.

Pillaging Elena's pack, he grabbed her water bottles and food and crammed them into his own pack. The rest was inconsequential. He eyed the screwdriver and decided against taking it. Not even worth the time, hand to hand fighting would be pointless when one has a gun. Still, it might have its other uses though…

Setting out her flashlight, map and compass on the ground, Brian used the screwdriver almost like a knife, effectively smashing the compass, breaking out the bulb of the flashlight and tearing her map to shreds. He didn't have to kill her. The others would pick her off, no sweat, and he wouldn't even have to waste a single bullet.

Jogging further through the forest, he knew he had two options. He could hole himself up in one of the buildings indicated on the map, or he could go and be the hunter. Of the options, being the hunter or being the hunted, he liked the idea of being the hunter more. Resolving to become the hunter, Brian stopped in his jog. He heard voices. Multiple voices. Female voices… They were the Brat Pack. He knew it. Everyone knew their voices. They were the bitch pack, the ones who felt they ruled the school. He knew that he'd show them…

* * *

Girl # 14, Ayane Fujikawa, maintained the lead in her group. It was the same in the jungle as it was in school. Although Brynn Sanchez, a.k.a. Girl # 6, was the one who liked to think she was in charge, everyone knew that glasses notwithstanding, Ayane controlled the show. Holding the rifle that Dora had been assigned and the machete from her own bag only furthered her position. As long as she had the weapons, she had the power. The others… They were collateral. They were her friends, but she also knew how the game worked. The more people she had not trying to kill her, the better she felt, and the more likely she would be able to figure a plan out to really know what the hell was going on here.

Looking back, she thought that she could have felt better about the group. They were her friends, sure, but what good would they be in a survival situation? What good would they be when their asses were really on the line? Brynn was a fighter, that much she was glad for. Brynn was someone she could rely on, even if she was a little quick to jump to conclusions and something of a bitch when it came to her behavior to the high school non-elite. Dora… Dora Janovec, a.k.a. Girl # 9, was one of the founding Brat Packer members, but she was the least like the rest which was as refreshing as it was unnerving. Unlike Ayane, Brynn, Cheryl (Girl # 16), or Serenity (Girl # 12), she was not self-impressed. She didn't stand in front of the mirror for as many hours on end as the rest (Dora was an unbelievable natural beauty that the others couldn't understand or mimic if they tried). She cared for the advancement of others, yet she didn't care about getting what she wanted as often. Dora was too much of a humanitarian for school, and definitely too much of a humanitarian for this game. Her dragging the pitiful and catatonic Tammy Farrell, a.k.a. Girl # 8, after she'd been attacked by the game's entrance was a sign of it. The frail girl was dead weight, but if Ayane was to stay alive, she knew it would have to be with her friends, and for her friends not to be against her, she had to keep them happy. Tammy would just have to keep up for now, at least as long as Dora would drag her. And then, of course, there was Serenity. Serenity was an idiot plain and simple. Damned good cheerleader, one of the hottest girls in school, but an idiot.

Ayane looked back at Cheryl, seeing the cheerleading sweater. The sweater seemed to her to be an icon of times past, of another place in another world. Not but twenty-four hours before, all that she had been worrying about choosing between the dorms of Harvard or buying an apartment offsite. That was her biggest worry. The 4.0 GPA to maintain in college, that was her biggest worry. Cheerleading, being part of the squad, being part of the team, the closeness of it all. That _was_ her biggest worry.

Maxine.

The name made her come back to reality. Forget about Maxine, that was ancient history. She had to be ancient history here, for her sake, and yours, she had to be ancient history. Ancient history like Yousuke? Images of her older brother sitting at the breakfast table and not recognizing anyone around flashed through her mind. Every so often he would giggle, then scream and claw at the air in front of him. No wonder he committed suicide. Battle Royale... Trash.

Still, there was a part of Ayane that still felt the need to keep the family name alive. Her brother won before, and if her survival made any difference, then so be it. It was of course a boldfaced rationalization that she had forced upon herself, covering up for the fact that she was afraid. Could she really kill these people she'd known, some of them since childhood, could she kill them if just to keep alive for a little bit longer? Maybe even kill the one you love?

Ayane had to shake her head to bring her back into the picture. Keep the icy cold demeanor, that'll keep the friends following you. That'll keep-

"Does anyone have any idea where the fuck we are going?" Brynn asked with all the eloquence she could muster.

"Just follow me," Ayane said confidently.

"Why, there something we don't know 'bout?" Cheryl asked.

"I don't know if any of you have looked, but we all have maps in our bags," Ayane said, never once looking back, "there's some buildings in this direction. If we keep going this way, we can make ourselves a stronghold and figure out what the hell is going on, that make sense?"

Hesitant and not believing that Ayane knew which direction to go in, Brynn wanted to protest. She would have said something too... had it not been for the sharp cracking and pop of a gun. Serenity screamed. Once, twice, Ayane whirled around and fired a booming shot from the rifle, and a third time from the smaller gun. The unknown shooter fired twice more, one of them getting Ayane to cry out as she fired back one last shot towards their attacker.

Feeling fire in her face as they heard one final shot from their attacker, Brynn whirled around and slammed into the ground. They could hear the shooter running away through the trees and underbrush. The rifle must have scared him off, Brynn thought grimly, good luck for us.

She winced as she traced fingers over the right side of her face. One shot had grazed her cheek, tearing the flesh and spraying blood in her eye. Nevertheless, she was alive, though spun around and knocked to the ground. She probed the wound, no shattered bone, definitely some tissue and blood loss, nothing fatal. Damn it, why did they have to ruin your face? Of all the places they could strike, why the face? Plastic surgery can't even take care of this, this, this is fucking permanent! Getting back to her feet, Brynn looked around at the others.

"Everyone all right?" Brynn asked, noticing that the other five had hit the floor as well. Serenity was fine, muddied, but fine. Dora too was all right, with a scrape to her elbow from hitting a tree, but all right. Tammy was catatonic, but a quick lookover proved that she too was not hit. The remainder of the troop was not as fortunate. Ayane had a ragged graze in the flesh of her left bicep. It was bleeding, but a quick test made it known that her arm was still working. The bone was intact, for now at least. The bleeding was another issue.

"Oh Jesus!" Dora cried out.

Running to her friend, she could see the spreading blood and thought quick to remedy the problem. Tearing the left sleeve from her long-sleeved shirt, she brought it around Ayane's arm and tied a loose knot.

"Ready?" Dora asked.

"Yeah," Ayane admitted as she looked at the wound.

Each hand grabbing one end of the sleeve, Dora prepared to pull it taut as she braced her feet against the ground.

"No, wait!" Ayane said wildly, then looking to the ground.

Grabbing a stick from the ground and biting into it, Ayane nodded. Dora pulled the knot as tight as she could, forcing Ayane into a muted scream. The pressure kept down the flow of blood, and the pain soon subsided into a dull throb. Spitting the stick out, Ayane stood up and grabbed the rifle with her better arm.

"We have to get moving, they could still be out there," she said, not noticing Cheryl still sprawled out on the ground. Serenity on the other hand was quick to notice and rolled the downed girl over.

"Cher," Serenity asked, "you ok?"

"I'm fine," Cheryl muttered, "just got the wind knocked out of me."

Even with very little light filtering through the trees, they could see the spreading stain and the small hole in Cheryl's white cheerleading sweater. Rolling the bottom of the sweater up, Serenity could see a neat little hole in Cheryl's stomach with a good trickle of blood exiting it.

"She's bleeding, oh God, she's bleeding!" Serenity practically shrieked as she backed away from the girl on the floor.

Hefting the rifle and wincing in pain from her arm, Ayane said, "I saw an infirmary on the map, it shouldn't be far off."

"What, you're expecting to operate on her, sew her up, fix the problem? It probably tore through everything in her belly!" Brynn yelled, "We have to get out of here!"

"Maybe," Dora interjected, "but this is Cheryl, we can't leave her! What are you talking about, we have to help her!"

"Shut up Dora!" Brynn said defensively with spite, "We've already got the dead weight that you dragged over here, Cheryl is only going to make things worse."

Noisily chambering a round from the rifle, Ayane aimed it at Brynn to quiet her.

"We're going to the infirmary, case closed. All of us. We'll bandage ourselves up, barricade ourselves in, and with any luck we'll find a way to make it through this thing. Any objections?"

Brynn would have, but with a rifle aimed at her chest, she didn't push her luck. Quietly, the six girls made their way to the infirmary, where Dora had to help Tammy walk still, and Brynn and Serenity each supported one of Cheryl's shoulders. Considering she had been shot in the belly and in unbelievable agony, Cheryl was in reasonably good spirits. Nevertheless, the amount of blood she was losing was frightening. Still, Ayane kept the lead, no longer allowing the pain to take her over. She had a cause, she was in charge. She had to find a way to keep them all alive.

* * *

Of all the people taking part in this Battle Royale, there was none feared among the general class populace feared more than one Damien "The Demon" Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17. He knew it too, and frankly, he was eating it up. For the longest time he had been the outcast, the one looked down upon for being different and for being a freak. He couldn't help the way he looked, though they could help the way they looked at him and taunted him. They didn't though, which seemed to make this ever the more sweet justice. Damien smiled.

As he first stepped into the game, he had decided to do two things before anything else. One, climb a tree. Two, sleep. Should he find the proper tree, it would provide ample protection, and with all the branches, no one would be able to see him until morning. The sleep would allow him a clarity unlike any the others could muster (though clarity by Damien's standards and most "normal" people's standards were too vastly different thing), and would make them easier targets for the hunt. Yes, the hunt…

There were no better words to describe it, the hunt was on. The "good" people, the "happy" people, they were all the phonies. Phonies who liked to smile and were so full of spite that they were the true ugly ones. The ones who would look upon Damien and grimace, then throw things and laugh. They called him "The Demon". At first it hurt, but then they came out and gave The Demon it's own voice. By the time he had entered the Battle Royale, Damien and The Demon were on equal ground. In school an occurrence such as that would be downright frightening, but here... it was downright deadly.

"I am the Demon," he said to himself, much of him liking the sound very much as it came from his lips.

He couldn't explain why, but he realized enough early on that he had an almost supernatural understanding of how the game was run and how it should be played. While others ran around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to formulate plans, seeing if they wanted to play the game, they wanted to die, or if they wanted to try and beat the game, he already knew better than the lot of them. In this game you had to kill, and that Damien was prepared to do. Still, couldn't stop him from having some fun in the meantime, maybe even up a few scores that needed to be evened up.

Already he knew that he could not do things alone, not by a long shot, not this early in the game. Lurking in the bushes as they walked on by, The Demon watched the Brat Pack and grimaced. Out of everyone in the school, they were the phoniest of the phony. They had ruined Damien's life, named him The Demon early on and then inadvertently given birth to it. If he had his choice, they would be his prime targets. They were the roots of all evil in Braiwood High, the top of its hierarchy. Bitches. Witches. All of them Witches, yes. True evil in its purest form. What he had to do was far too clear in his mind.

"I am become death, the destroyer of worlds," he finished, quoting his favorite passage of the Bhagavad-Gita (and the words he knew J. Robert Oppenheimer as soon as he discovered the true destructive power of his invention, the Atomic Bomb). By no means was Damien a religious man; if anything he was quite the opposite. He could not believe in a higher force that allowed him to be one person one day, a freak the next, and a monster created by these harpies the next.

A freak with a piece of metal in his brain that made the thoughts go back and forth like a ping pong ball, he corrected.

"It is time," he said with his wry and crooked grin as he continued beyond them to find a suitable tree.

He felt the headache that usually indicated that his blood pressure was up far too high and that he would have an attack of rage and stopped moving. Damien placed one hand on a nearby tree, closed his eyes and breathed steadily. He just stood and breathed, calming down and making his heart slow. Rational thought approached his mind and he thought the situation out. This one would be suitable, yes, he thought as he began to expertly ascend the branches of a nearby tree.

He would have no problem hunting down and murdering the members of the Brat Pack, but the event in of itself was one that would not be best experienced alone, and given his weapon (a CD jewel case) maybe even impossible without accompaniment. He knew of a man, one who had been spited by the Brats almost as much as he, who would most likely jump at the opportunity. A man who was by every means normal, but by sight was graded a freak and a kindred spirit of Damien's. In this game, the individual survives, but the alliance thrives. The murder of the Brat Pack would be an event enjoyed by a select pair, at least if Damien had his way.

Vowing to find his friend as soon as it became light, Damien almost instantly descended to sleep in the comforts of a stiff tree branch.


	7. Hour 2: 48 Contestants Remaining

Hour 2

48 Contestants Remaining

Homer Brannick, a.k.a. Boy # 4 could hear noises. Definitely other people by the sounds of it, nothing natural about it. They would run by every so often and he would wait patiently, nothing more, nothing less and hoping his best not to be seen. He would've taken them on if given the chance, but it was impossible with things like they were.

His weapon was fuckin' pitiful, that was the first thing he would admit. Fuckin' pitiful. What good was a single-shot tranquilizer gun? Shoot it and a person goes drowsy, it'll take 'em forever to keel over and then what? Beat 'em with your bare hands? Wait for them to shoot you while the drug takes effect?

Looking in the mirror of the small bathroom he had located, Homer still felt well enough to smile. He wasn't like Ahnuld or anything, but he was still pretty impressive physically. Pretty tall, muscular but not overly-so, more lean than anything else. He had well formed muscles and a powerful shape that had seen him through state water polo championships with the Braiwood Tigers, and scored him quite a few honeys. Not that looking good would do him much good out here, but it didn't hurt, right?

Looking away, he sighted a bit of graffiti that some soldier had scrawled next to the sink a few decades ago. FUBAR.

That much he could agree with, this situation was most definitely FUBAR. That was it, FUBAR, right, Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition?

He wasn't positive on the term's definition, but with an understanding of the military (he was studying up to be a history professor, though truth be told the only history that interested him was the history of every war the good old U S of A won). He knew tactics, and he knew military bases. This was one of them, that much he was positive of. He had wandered a good portion of the island's southern half in two hours, most of it hiding in the brush and sprinting with all of his might between covers to keep safe. The general layout was identical to a lot of military bases he had seen and been on. Rows of barracks, a mess hall, an infirmary, an airfield, a firing range, a radio tower and all sorts of assorted outbuildings. There were trails all over the place, but most of the buildings were in considerable disarray. Most of the stuff had been left over since the Vietnam War he guessed.

Vietnam, if that could even be considered a war. Fucking hippies lost the war, calling the real hero's baby killers. Collateral damage, that's what the babies were. Making up stories of the good soldiers and heroes doing the bad things just to make them look bad. My Lai? Talk about a bunch of lies if he'd ever heard any before. Maybe if there was a little more support back home then there wouldn't be so much collateral damage, did they ever think of that? They were burning their draft cards when they should've been burning the fucking gooks. God damned flower power, flowers can get you only so far, but a gun can get you even further.

A gun was the thing he wanted more than anything else, a real one, not one of these pussy dart guns that would just make someone yawn a whole lot before they could put a cap in his ass. What good was a weapon that couldn't kill, hell, what good was a weapon that couldn't even _disable_? Incapacitation was a definite possibility, but without knowing the potency on the darts… At first he considered testing it out on himself just to make sure, but with many another opportunistic asshole around, he didn't want to chance it. That, and it would be pretty damn dumb.

He did manage to get off one shot earlier, and it was a complete miss at that. He was looking to take out Marie Cooper, Girl # 21, but instead of hitting her in the neck like he intended, the shot instead harmlessly whizzed by her head. She was an opportune target, a thin girl with a big gun, an easy incapacitation, and an even easier kill if he needed to. He could've broken that tiny dancer's frame like she was matchsticks. She had a rifle, .30-06 by the looks of it, and if the bandolier of bullets that she wore was any indication, he could be riding high if he got it.

Luckily she didn't hear the shot and fire back, that was a good thing, but he would've liked the rifle. She was running too fast to afford him to reload a second shot. Instead he remained stuck with the pussy gun.

Well, luckier than some assholes it seemed, others didn't even get weapons if that video was any indication. They probably got, what, a bag of cheetos? An old videotape? A box of crayons? Who's to say what the more unfortunate SOB's would get? The government, that's who, but nevertheless, he was primed. Go for the goal, find someone who's weak and who's got a big gun. Find someone whose neck will snap in half with the twist of a wrist.

He left the latrine and continued to jog through the jungle, holding the tranquilizer gun in both hands like the cops did on TV. He wouldn't dare hold it sidewise like those movie gang bangers, holding their Uzi's sideways so they couldn't fire straight; that's inner-city, urban gorilla trash. Homer was white trash through and through and damned proud of it. He'd wear his Dodgers cap with the American flag stitched under the bill if he had the chance, but he hadn't thought enough to bring it to Grad Nite. He'd have liked it too, God bless the USA, it would've brought him some extra strength to kick ass.

Doubling back to where the game started, he found himself off to the side of the entrance to the bunker from which they had entered. The sole floodlight above its door cast an eerie red glow instead of the harsh white light that it cast earlier, while more flood lights on high stands cast the same glow over the field in front of the building. Red lights meant Danger Zone. Danger Zone meant instant death. Instant death was a bad thing, and bad things Homer didn't like. Bad girls who will take it any and every way, yes, bad things, hell no.

It was a simple connection. As luck had it though, he wasn't alone. He could see a figure with his back against an unprotected bunker wall, a lone, yet large boy hunched up. He could see a backpack with the butt of a gun sticking through lying next to him. Under the circumstances, that would have been more than enough to pique his interest. As soon as he got close enough to recognize who it was, he fired off a shot, hitting dead center. Then he sprinted with a maniacal look in his eyes, it was time. Months of wait, months of waiting for the opportunity to get away with murder, came down to this.

* * *

Out of all forty-eight contestants in the Battle Royale, Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1 probably belonged there the least, at least on principle. He was a hippy child, not in the literal sense of dressing and living like a hippy, but his parents were flower children proud and true, having met and fell in love during the summer of love. Despite the free love, they waited until they were ready for children, and had Carter not in the great WE generation, but instead in the lovely so-called ME generation of the 1980's.

Regardless, Carter still maintained and firmly believed in the values of the generation past. It was a good time, nothing like the constant noise that was the 1990's and new millennium. All the causes of the times of old, they meant something. It was almost like communism without the whole communism part, though people called them commies anyway. That was one part Carter could remember fondly…

He proudly took part in a protest against the United States' mounting relationship with the Greater Republic of East Asia. The dictatorial republic with Japan at its center had created the Battle Royale program and had pulled off human rights violations that were downright unspeakable, so something had to be done, something needed to be said. As a member of his school's chapter of the Students for a Democratic Society, a protest seemed to be the best way for them to show their might. True, similar protests had been met with violence from government and local police forces, but they were against adults, not minors. Smaller protests led by high schools were protected, so they had quite a bit of leeway when it came to protesting. Of course, that still wouldn't stop the violence, particularly among the student body.

Despite the inherent danger, he remained proud as a member of the SDS, and it was a cause that he believed firmly in. The GREA was ruled by a dictator with an iron fist, if the United States adopts the Battle Royale, what's to say they wouldn't be taking on some of the GREA's other policies? Isolationism, barging in on people's homes at a moment's notice to kill them for differing political ideologies, what's to stop them from removing every freedom that the founding fathers intended?

He didn't want to break the rules, but there was a time and place for everything. For all his time in high school, he had never done anything wrong. Never once been late, never once raised a fist in anger, and never once talked back to a teacher. Most teachers enjoyed verbally sparring with Carter, and his main goal was to make it as fun for them as it was for him. With the squeaky clean record, Carter decided he'd risk one Saturday school and ditch classes, take part in the protest.

His parents were completely supportive of it, his dad tie-dying him a t-shirt, while his mom sewed a peace sign into an American flag bandanna. Carter wore both with pride, even the bandanna which he would have never worn otherwise. Usually he wore hats that would keep him from getting burned, the floppy kind that protected the whole neck. True, they weren't the most fashionable, and they didn't get the girls, but unlike many, Carter didn't mind being a virgin.

So, there he went to school, tie-dyed t-shirt and American flag bandanna. At the right time, he left class to the protest. He had expected maybe twelve people, instead there were one hundred and fifty, many with banners and flags as they shouted to cars and flashed peace signs. Some of the cars responded positively, while others swerved to get as close to the curb as possible in an effort to scare the protestors off. Despite the ill attention, the students remained peaceful, the event taking on the atmosphere of a party.

Carter couldn't help it, but he had a smile that crossed his entire face. It was a cause that he was a part of, and having never really been a part of something before, it seemed to be a wonderful experience. They marched on city hall with their protest signs and sat down on the steps, following the guide book for peaceful demonstrations. The police had no problems with them, though kept a watchful eye the entire time. The police had not wanted to interfere, no way no how would they interfere. Sure, they could have shot into the crowd given the proper order and massacred all the students, but it wasn't exactly a way to get popular support, even in a Battle Royale jaded country. The police couldn't intervene unless they got violent, but the peace protesters remained just that: peaceful. The pro-war protestors on the other hand, did get violent.

There were maybe two dozen of them from the high school, and some more from outside who just decided to join in. They drove by in their cars and pickup trucks, tossing bottles and rocks, giving them the finger and calling the anti-war protestors a variety of obscenities. None of the peace protestors lifted a finger, not even when the pro-war folks staged a raid.

Although there were about thirty pro-war protestors in general, Carter only knew three of the ones that made an actual rush. Carrying bats and tire irons, Joel Giovanello, Brian Pavell and…

* * *

Homer Brannick rushed into the scene. Carter could see him exiting the tree line and had little time to react. In short time, Homer had shot Carter with a tranquilizer dart, and within moments, Carter could feel the potent drug slipping into his system. His vision blurred slightly, and everything seemed to slow down ever so slightly. The pain in his chest was numb and muted, though he knew it would soon spread through the rest of his body.

It all seemed too easy to Homer. Carter was sitting down, tranqing him was easy, and he became a quick target. With the weaker boy slumped over, Homer immediately began kicking Carter in the stomach. Impact after impact knocked him to the ground, coughing and rolling into a defensive ball.

"Hey there pussy-boy, long time no see!" Homer said with a sickeningly enthusiastic glee, kicking Carter once more in the chest. Carter could only moan in pain as he tried to back away, getting even more excitement from Homer.

"You see, this is what we get in the real world," Homer said again as he stomped down on Carter's kidney, causing him to howl out as the pain blinded him.

"The real world is a violent place. All problems are solved by violence, not by this hippie-commie bullshit that you preach."

Kicking Carter in the mouth, Homer could see the downed boy spitting blood.

"And now you're finding out the real world way, Homer style of course. How's it feel huh? How's it feel pussy boy?"

Coughing and spitting out more blood, Carter muttered unintelligibly.

"Good answer," Homer answered, kicking Carter once more and laughing.

"It's nothing personal, purely a lesson. You're too easy a target Carter, you were last time and you are this time, and just like last time you couldn't put up a fight. Glad to see that arm healed up, made it easier for me to get probation."

As Carter weakly reached for his pack, Homer pushed it out of the way and stepped on his arm. He deftly loaded another dart into his tranquilizer gun and shot Carter in the thigh. Loading up another, he held the weapon in front of the wounded boys eye.

"I don't know what kind of gun you got, but it's a good one by the looks of it," Homer said as he looked to Carter's backpack, "what is it, a shotgun?"

Seeing the weak and huddled creature writhing in pain, Homer knew he should by all rights be feeling compassion. Instead, he just felt anger and glee. Carter would learn his lesson, and he would bleed for it. He would bleed, and he would die for it. The ultimate lesson. He always wondered what his last words would be to a person he was about to kill, and thinking of nothing better, he smiled and stepped on Carter's head, preparing to crush it into the ground.

"And don't worry, just to show you I'm not a complete asshole, I'll send your parents your tongue after I win this thing. I'd send your balls, but seeing as how you don't have any, it's kind of pointless."

As he started to press down, Carter wanted to weep. The mention of his parents, people he may never see again got to him. Then Homer's pompousness and arrogance struck him. The son of a bitch would never give it up. Then anger boiled up in Carter's drug-addled haze, forming a rage which he had never experienced before. Not that anger was foreign, he was only human and it was an emotion he like any other was used to. Boiling up in his blood, was pure, unadulterated rage. It was white hot, burning at him behind his eyes, and his sad face turned into a biting grimace. He wasn't going to die, not now, not ever, and certainly not at the hands of Homer Brannick.

He grabbed Homer's foot from his head and twisted it. Hard. Homer seemed taken aback, not expecting his tranquilized target to react like so and with as quick reflexes as he had. But Carter did and he did it in force. Twisting Homer's foot even further, Carter slammed it into the ground with a loud crack. Homer screamed quite loudly and angrily fired another tranquilizer dart at Carter's chest. Like the others, it hit center mass, but for once it didn't seem to phase Carter.

Homer was terrified. Carter wasn't a fit man, but he was physically larger than Homer, and was angry to boot. Battered, bruised and a little lopsided from Homer's beating, but acting on pure rage and adrenaline, Carter bounded forward despite the three tranquilizer darts hanging from his body. At that, Homer started stepping backwards and loaded another dart, giving Carter a chance to attack.

He pushed Homer, nothing great, just a push like any child would on any schoolyard to another kid who stole their toy fire truck, but this push wasn't out of any simple revenge. It was rage, pure and simple. Homer fell back with a thud on the ground, the wind knocked thoroughly out of him. With his eyes closed, he half expected to see Carter standing over him with a chainsaw like a maniac, ready to tear him apart. Instead, he saw another sight. Red.

He heard a beep and instantly opened his eyes. He was in the red light, the Danger Zone. The beep had come from his belt, it was activated! Getting up he looked around wildly, left, right, there was nowhere to go. Carter stood by, equally stunned, listening as the beeping increased in frequency and speed.

"Cocksucker!" was all Homer could yell as he looked at Carter and approached the man, firing his last dart into Carter's shoulder. With the weapon empty, he started running for Carter, wanting just one more good hit.

Homer didn't get his one good hit. Within three feet of Carter, the high explosives in Homer's belt detonated and sliced through flesh and spine. The force of the blast was enough to send Homer's top half cartwheeling through the air, spraying blood and entrails every which way. His legs and pelvis stood for a brief moment as if parodying the situation, yet they soon collapsed to the ground in a steaming pile of flesh.

Carter was numb to the situation, though he was vaguely aware of being doused in a hot liquid and wrapped in something that felt like a fat, slithering snake, blissfully unaware that they were Homer's entrails. It didn't matter now, the beating and the four tranquilizer darts he had been shot with had been more than enough to make him care less about what had happened to Homer. As his vision dulled over, Carter was vaguely aware that he was wrapped covered with some sticky hot liquid. Blood? Most likely.

He still didn't care. Half walking, half stumbling, Carter found his pack on the ground and dragged it along with him. With little time to go, he made it to the tree line and gained a few more steps. Once the four darts had had their full effect, Carter fell down in a shallow puddle of mud. Somehow he found the ferns rushing up to meet him, and he almost giggled as he saw his breath rippling the mud next to his face. He had fallen. Heh.

Carter was also vaguely aware that he had killed someone, that it was against everything he believed in, but more than anything else, he wanted to sleep. And he did.

Carter James, simply called Boy # 1 to the gambling world, had been the first to kill in the Battle Royale. He was most certainly not the last.


	8. Hour 3: 47 Contestants Remaining

Hour 3

47 Contestants Remaining

Marie Cooper, a.k.a. Girl # 21 ran like she had a mission, mainly because truth be told, she did have a mission. It was Julliard, plain and simple. No more, no less, she couldn't aspire to lose. Aim for the top, shoot to kill, simple mottos to go by. The rats, the simpletons, the little people had no greatness in their path. She, on the other hand, was destined for greatness. She was perfection. She was something more than this game could contain. If anything, she was all but divine.

Almost since the womb she had been molded to be a ballet dancer, and the greatest of them all if there were any choice. Her name would light up programs, she would be a star and she would be the greatest. Fame and fortune aside, recognition and respect were her destiny. Sleep and friends were for the weak, fats and sugars? Out of the question.

Indeed she was fit, a tall yet spindly girl in appearance, Marie Cooper's willowy figure was almost entirely muscle. Her skin was pale but toned, without a single blemish that hadn't been taken care of. The laser and the scalpel had been kind to Marie's skin, her fit body healing quick under the circumstances, while her mother's wallet filled in the gaps. With her impossibly pale skin, it only made her short cropped hair seem even blacker than the blackest nights, her eyes seeming a deeper brown than anything possible. They were a sight to behold, yet if the shadows caught her just right they'd look like empty sockets into her head. Beautiful by most standards, the emptiness and cold behind those eyes would take away any semblance of attractiveness.

Indeed, Marie's ambitions may not have turned out to be as they were if not for her mother. The woman was a "disgraced" socialite from Manhattan who had to move across the coast the moment she found her husband had cheated. With another man.

Embarrassed beyond any explainable extent, she moved west to California, while unknowingly pregnant with a daughter. Marie never really stood a chance. Her mother was near mad and vowed to make her daughter live out all her lost dreams and broken promises, most particularly that of being a great dancer. The practices, long hours and scant diet would have driven nearly any person insane, yet Marie absorbed it all like a sponge and used it to become a new person.

When self-esteem became an issue in her teens as it would with any other, Marie's mother began to take her to the shooting range and showed her how high-powered weapons could be used to inflate one's image. It helped, most definitely. Who needed friends and people to talk to when you had the heavy boom and recoil of a high-powered rifle? Who needed sex when the true power spit forth fire and death?

The comfort of her randomly assigned weapon was greater than anything she could have expected. .30-06 rifle with an excellent scope, all she need do was find an open area with a high and sheltered spot and the game would be hers, no questions asked. She swung the bandoleer of bullets given in her pack around her unbelievably narrow waist, though the rifle itself she carried with strength in her hands. She loaded the bullets with a satisfying crack and looked around. Still safe, still good, pay attention, not like earlier. Can't be sloppy, not again.

At first she had her reservations about the Battle Royale, be they very minor, but reservations nevertheless. They passed quickly within the first fifteen minutes of the game when she ran afoul of Gervase Rockwell, a.k.a. Boy # 24. The pompous self-proclaimed ladies man had come at her with a hunting knife. She had no time to shoot, he came fast and managed to slash the shoulder of her blouse. Reacting on instinct, she swung the rifle around and used it's butt to smash him in the face. The impact brought him to his knees, but Marie was relentless. Again, and again, and again she hit him square in the face with the butt of the rifle, spraying blood all over the place. She'd broken his nose, one of his cheeks, taken out several teeth and caused enough shock for him to bite off and swallow much of his tongue. He lay unconscious, writhing unconsciously on the ground as the pain still coursed through his body. She considered putting a bullet in his head then and there, but looking at the supply she had, she decided against it. He would likely die of the injuries she had performed on his face. If not, some other vulture would come along and take him. Either way, there was no chance he would be making it out of this thing alive, let alone being a threat to her existence in this game.

Still, looking at what she had done to his body, a matter of pride came up. Marie knew her reputation wasn't the best in the world, but she also knew that she wasn't the most visible either. She wanted the recognition that she deserved in this game as well as life. In short, she didn't want anyone else claiming her work. She had beaten him and she wanted the world to know. Then came an inspiration…

Pulling his shirt off, she stuffed it in her backpack. She then grabbed his hunting knife, apparently the weapon he'd been assigned. Looking at the blade, Marie flexed her wrist and caught the weapons glint in the moonlight. It was sharp, definitely sharp. It was large too; had Gervase been maybe two inches to the right, he would have nearly severed her arm. He wouldn't get that satisfaction though, oh no, not now. Holding the blade delicately in her thin fingers, Marie began to use it to cut into the gentle flesh of his chest. She did so experimentally at first, mainly to see if she would get a reaction out of the sleeping boy. With a line horizontally across his abdomen, it proved to be not enough to rouse him from his slumber. Perfect... Using the knife like an expert surgeon, she took a few moments to carve words into the flesh of his chest that would prove to all what she did, words that with any luck would make her feared.

'MARIE COOPER DID THIS'

She stared at her handiwork with a sense of pride for a moment, then continuing as she cut lightly into his skin. Working meticulously, Marie created a line with an arrow that pointed at his mess of a face. It was almost a work of art, almost something she could admire and truly claim to be her own, yet... something still wasn't quite right about it. Something had to be done, she didn't know what right away, but something had to be done to truly define the assault and make people really know what she was all about.

Like a light bulb over her head, she found an inspiration. She carved two more arrows from his chest with lines going to each of his hands. The next part, well, that had taken some effort, but it was really worth it. All it needed was the appropriate amount of pressure with the knife blade at the base of each thumb, and off they came. The shock of the first severed thumb woke him screaming from his unconscious daze, but another quick hit to the face with the rifle settled that one quickly. She looked at her work, Gervase, now with her name carved into his chest and no longer possessing thumbs. With no thumbs, he wouldn't have hopes for operating anything short of a stick, let alone surviving for any significant amount of time in this game. In the meantime though, what little life he had left would make him the perfect advertisement for one stone-cold killer, and the future winner of this Battle Royale.

Looking back one last time, Marie took in the sight of the unconscious Gervase one last time. He was a very bloody and thoroughly beaten wreck, an easy target for someone who had the time and motivation to end his life. Marie most certainly didn't, she had a plan and a schedule to keep, and he'd already set her back significantly. Using Gervase's discarded shirt, she wiped the copious amount of blood from her hands and discarded it in a tree. Grabbing Gervase's pack and placing his now-sheathed knife in the back of her belt, she continued to run along.

That was nearly three hours ago, though. Since then, she had scouted a good portion of the island's northern half. The ritualistic marking of the boy seemed to her to be a rite of passage into the game; it proved to her that she was indeed ready to do anything it took in the Battle Royale. Anything.

Following the map, Marie found that in due time the trees parted as they were supposed to and she found what she wanted to: the airfield. It once was a long, flat stretch of dirt with a large hangar, a helipad and a massive air traffic control tower. The facilities were large enough to support numerous military cargo planes, though as with everything else, it was all in a sense of disrepair. The runway was overgrown with tall grass and weeds, all easily waist high. Various old vehicles dotted the runway as rusted out hulks, though the remains of a plane that appeared to have exploded on the runway served as a grim monument of sorts. The main hangar had large pieces of the ceiling falling inward, casting eerie shadows with the moonlight, but the tower appealed most of all to her.

The air traffic control tower was nearly twenty meters tall and looked to be built like a fortress. Most importantly though, it had windows all the way around and provided a great view of the field. An excellent hunter's blind, Marie thought. Pushing her way through the tall grass, she found a door to the tower, and after climbing the wooden stairs, she found herself in the control room. Windows all around, and a wide view of the surrounding field, just like it appeared from the outside. There were some tables, chairs and other furniture in the way, but she could clear them out to provide space to make the room livable. The pieces of monitoring equipment that lay along the edge of the room would be a bit harder to get rid of, but it was enough to survive her, so she couldn't complain.

Setting down the two packs she had in her position, Marie brought out her rifle and prepared to turn this tower into her own personal fortress.

* * *

Cold as ice, that's how Anna Rourke, a.k.a. Girl # 7 _should_ have wanted to look at the Battle Royale, it was a simple affair like that. It wasn't, however, as simple as it should have seemed. These were her peers, the people she had grown up with in the same town for the last, what, ten, twelve years? Some of them even longer maybe. They all knew each other better than most of their families did, and the thought of random execution was sickening. It was exploitation, plain and simple, and Anna wasn't one to abide by that. 

Her personal politics aside, Anna began having serious doubts over her abilities. She was powerful, yes, and she went into it with as strong and cold a demeanor as she could muster. Cold, hell, it was just plain hot on the island. She had stopped along the shoreline for a breather and a chance to sip her water before formulating a plan of some sorts. Every so often there would be the sounds of someone screaming or some scattered gunfire echoing across the island, unnerving sounds that were droned out the rest of the time by the insects and frog croaks that populated the island.

Normally against showing her body to anyone, Anna pulled her shirt over her head if just to fight the humidity. She was physically strong and very lean, if a slight bit overweight. Nevertheless, she was a good athlete, a proud member of the school's swim team and part of Swim 6 along with closest friends Jenny, Sky, Naomi, Lindsay and Lenore (who was thankfully not here). She didn't mind the extra pounds though despite her spot on the swim team. They gave her the curves, the kind that real chicks have, none of that starvation anorexia crap that kills people outright. She ran a hand idly through her curly dirty-blonde hair which fell haphazardly around her shoulders, at which point she tied her shirt around her forehead. It kept her hair out of her eyes and more than made up for the fact that she was hotter than hell and sweating marvelously. It was a tropical island, she knew that. Asia? India maybe? The lack of bamboo and other accompanying organisms made her nix the "far east" theory as to the islands location. Couldn't be that far away either, it's still night, and I'm not all that hungry. Unless they fed us while we were all out, it must be the night we left. They were more than likely somewhere off the coast of Mexico, Northern Central America at the furthest maybe. That would add up to the whole theory that this was some defunct Vietnam-era military base.

Wiping sweat from her chest, Anna heard what sounded like a faint mechanical buzz. A weapon? She dropped her pack and grabbed up the aluminum baseball bat she had been assigned randomly and held it up strong. Thank god for little league t-ball, she mused as she could feel the muscles in her shoulders tightening. Listening to the buzz again, she looked up and grimaced. It was a camera, a video camera to be more precise. It had a mount in the tree, but it moved and focused in on her closely as it rotated in its base.

She had to remind herself, _they actually broadcast this to a paying audience!_ People were probably placing bets on her already, either expecting her to go far based on her skill or expecting her to go rather soon from someone she couldn't see.

She wanted to vomit then and there, but feeling slightly self-righteous and not thinking as straight as she would have liked she spoke to the camera.

"You're enjoying this I'm sure you sick freaks. Is this what you want to see? Huh? Is this what you want to see? A little bit of skin, huh?"

Angrily she tore her bra from her chest, and standing naked from the waist up she looked angrily at the camera.

"There, you got what you want you exploitive fucks, one set of D cups out and proud on national pay television, bet this'll do wonder's for your ratings, huh? Sex sells, it always works, you like this don't ya?"

Getting even angrier, she held the bat in one hand and pointed it at the camera.

"Do you people ever look yourselves in the mirror after watching this stuff? Do you? What you got is the usual government sponsored genocide, a ratings bonanza? Do you people get off watching children murdering each other, do you want to see blood, do you want to see pain? We have enough problems abroad to be doing this to our own citizens, what the hell do you hope to accomplish by forcing a bunch of innocent kids to kill each other?"

The camera simply stared at her, remaining silent and dark like it tended to do. It was after all, just a camera. There were other pieces of equipment around it, but it was just a camera, plain and simple. Odds are people weren't even watching her and that the cameras back at home were focusing elsewhere, but once on the soap box she couldn't step down from it. The bastards put her here, they were most certainly going to hear what she had to say. Speaking to an audience that wasn't listening, reminded her of school elections… Except then her constituents weren't carrying guns and axes. Usually.

"What is this going to accomplish besides a pile of dead bodies?"

Still, the camera remained silent. Anna was disappointed, she expected to keep cooler than this. Cold as Ice, the Ice Queen, Braiwood Senior Class President, Editor of the school newspaper, ringleader of the Swim 6, all a sham, all a cover. All a lie, all a mask. The camera's saw through the mask, they seemed to melt right through it and show her for who she really was. Everyone would know what she was, if they didn't already. Not losing it (visibly at least), she maintained her composure and pulled her bra back on.

"You're not getting me, and come hell or high water am I going to let you sick fucks get to me."

Holding the bat high, Anna swung it overhead and smashed the camera with a crash that sounded wonderful. With pieces and sparks shooting every which way, a small speaker soon started blaring nearby.

"DAMAGE OF BATTLE ROYALE EQUIPMENT IS IN STRICT VIOLATIONS OF SET RULES! THIS IMMEDIATE AREA WILL BECOME A DANGER ZONE! YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

A small red light below the camera remains began flashing at a regular interval, at which point Anna started sprinting. She left her pack on the ground, carrying only the baseball bat as she ran. She just flew as fast of she can, out of breath and on pure adrenaline. In five seconds, a floodlight below the camera cast an eerie red light that set the boundaries of the Danger Zone. Looking back, she saw on the ground that she was three feet outside the boundary of the set zone. Luck, that was it. Luck and speed. She waited, catching her breath and getting her heart to beat like normal again. Looking back, she could see the camera, now quite a distance away, seemingly having taken place hours back.

With the blaring from the loudspeaker over and done with, all Anna could hear was the droning of the insects, the croaking of the frogs in the trees, and the booming of the waves that came in on the beach. Some part in the back of her mind wished that she had at least taken a dip, gotten a feel of the cool water, at least before she transformed a good chunk of the beach into a Danger Zone.

Listening to the surf and the bugs, she thought she could hear something else. Something foreign to the jungle. Something mechanical. An engine of sorts, sounded almost like a boat. Peering around the tree she had leaned against, Anna looked to the source of the sound. It was a boat, a well lit one at that, and it was headed for the beach…


	9. Hour 4: 47 Contestants Remaining

Hour 4

47 Contestants Remaining

The night was hot as hell, he was fully ready and willing to admit that. And it wasn't a dry heat either, not like the ones when the Santa Ana winds came down from the hills and swept through town, starting brushfires and raining ash every which way. No, this was a wet, jungle heat, full of flies, full of rot, and soon to be full of death. He could've cut through it if he had a knife, but, unfortunately he'd left it at home. That'd have made things a lot easier, by a long shot.

It's not that Peter Larkin, a.k.a. Boy # 14, didn't like his weapon. Quite the contrary, he was rather fond of the police baton he'd been provided in his survival pack. It was compact, it was durable, and given enough blows it could crack a person's skull wide open if given enough force, and if there was anyone who could provide the force, it'd have been him. Peter Larkin, born to be an athlete, turned into a criminal instead, ain't it cool?

It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that Peter was one of the top contenders for the position of Battle Royale Champion, at least by his standards. Physically he was in almost peak condition, having been an all star on the rugby team all through his sophomore year until his grades counted him out. So, he'd taken to something that didn't require the grades to succeed: street racing. It was easy money, one hell of a thrill and, well, it got the chicks. Didn't really get the cops approval, but, really, who wants the pigs to see them well?

From a weapons standpoint he'd also felt rather good. Yeah, he'd have liked a knife, would have loved a gun even more, but at the same time he wasn't bad off. He mused over the instructional video they'd had before the game began, what'd they say, "Everyone will get a weapon, but one super lucky person will get two?" Something like that.

Peter smiled, super lucky indeed. Along with the baton, he'd received a plastic bag with a pair of brass knuckles included. They were awesome, and he knew if anyone tried to get up close and take him on, BAM, one uppercut and they're down. Who knows, maybe even get lucky and drive their jawbone through the brain and-

The smell. He knew that smell almost more than he knew any other. It was acrid, it was violent, and it was foul... to most people. By his standards though, it was a good one, a smell he hadn't expected out here. Someone was dumb enough to do it? Yeah, they were. He crouched down low, approaching the odor cautiously and stealthily. Be quiet, stay low, and you'll have it won...

* * *

It was difficult to see her at first, black on black; she blended in with the trunk of the tree almost perfectly. Then there came the glow, a light orange dot that almost shot out in the darkness of the morning hours. As the wind adjusted, he caught another whiff of that divine smell. Cigarettes, good ones too. 

"You got any more of those?" Peter asked nonchalantly as he let the police baton drop to his side.

"Only if you still got some in that flask of yours," the female voice responded. He didn't need to see her face to know that she was smiling. It was Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5. The voice could not be mistaken, a very fine mixture of feminine, masculine, and pure 'I could kick your ass if I wanted to' attitude. The fact that she also wore those same damn wraparound sunglasses, even at night, was also a pretty good clue.

She stepped out of the shadow and approached Peter, at which point he could see the tire iron she had sidled up against her arm. He smiled, poor old predictable Ashley. Always with the tough chick look, always the fighter, never the lover. Then again, you're no saint either.

Ashley herself sized up the approaching boy. Peter Larkin, one of the few guys in school she might have found hot. The fact that he had a police record didn't hurt either, though he did have the tendency to be a son of a bitch sometimes. He did have the bad boy thing down pretty good though, street racer, street fighter, been arrested and had enough scars from back alley brawls to boast about. She liked him, really, it was hard not to. Tough as he wanted to seem, he was a nice guy. An alcoholic, maybe a bit of a dumbass, but a nice guy.

Nevertheless, she was aware of the rules. Out here he was competition, he was out to kill her as much as she was out to kill him (which oddly enough wasn't all that much at the moment.) Even if he was something of a friend and always had the good booze on him, Ashley couldn't deny the fact that the conflict was possible. She wouldn't have gone as far to call it an inevitability, but he was as big a hardass as she was, and she knew how their personalities, if not their weapons, were likely to clash.

Peter sat down against the same tree that Ashley had been leaning up against, pulling out his flask and handing it to her. She quickly twisted off the cap and took a sip. It was harsh and burned all the way down, but it did the trick.

"Maker's Mark?" Ashley asked with a light cough.

"Nothing but the best for Mrs. Larkin's baby boy," Peter laughed.

"That baton all you got?" Ashley continued as she took another swig.

Peter considered telling her of the brass knuckles, but thought better of it, "Yeah, sucks but it'll have to do, ya know?"

"Yeah, I do," she laughed as she looked at the pitiful looking tire iron in her hands.

Returning the favor, the girl pulled a half-pack of cigarettes from her auto shop shirt and flicked her wrist, presenting one through a hole in the top. In the low light, Peter took a few moments to grab at the pack, but in the end he found it and with a little bit of a shaky hand put one of the sticks between his lips.

Don't shake, shaking means you're nervous. Shaking means that you're weak. There is no weakness, the cops never saw it, she can't see it. She especially can't see it, this isn't a traffic stop, this isn't possession with intent to sell, this is life or death. This is blood for blood, this is last man standing, survival of the fittest.

Steadying his hand, he pulled out a Zippo and lit the cancer stick between his teeth, inhaling its acrid smoke. As the chemicals from the cigarette entered his system, he could feel the nervousness leaving his body and the shaking subsided. It worked, it served its purpose, and he smiled again. Yeah, that's all better now.

The two sat beside each other, leaning against the tree, smoking their cigarettes and passing the flask back and forth. For minutes at a time, there was silence outside of their drinking and inhaling. It was Ashley who broke the silence.

"What's this remind you of?" Ashley asked wryly.

Peter laughed. He knew the answer before Ashley even asked it.

"Homecoming," he continued with a hoarse laugh, "sitting on top of that van and smoking that block of hash, shooting silly string at those freshmen who had no clue what the hell was going on."

"Yeah, I think we blinded one of them," Ashley said with another laugh.

"We did?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, temporarily, but, yeah, I think so," Ashley responded.

"Man, that is awesome," Peter replied, "I never knew you could do that with Silly String."

"Seems you can," Ashley replied, "makes napalm if you put it in front of a lighter."

"No shit?" Peter asked.

"I shit you not," Ashley continued. Sighing, she took a long drag on her cigarette, trying her best to formulate her next sentence and still not quite sure how to do it.

"So what are we gonna do?" Ashley asked.

Taking a long swig off the liquor, Peter replied rather simply, "Die I guess. Live and let die, right?"

Letting a slight grin cross her face, Ashley responded, "Don't fear the reaper baby."

"Well said," Peter said with a raise of the flask, "I'd toast you if I had another glass."

"I wouldn't," Ashley responded, "we're in a fucked up situation right now. Two of us here, one of us is gonna get out of here, or maybe not. Forty-six people outside of us here, about a one in forty-eight chance of getting out of this alive."

"Helluva grad night, right?" Peter asked.

"Amen to that my friend," Ashley said. As she looked over to Peter, she could see that he was oddly silent, almost as if his thought had been cut off in mid-sentence.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked.

"Nah," he said as he shook his head, "don't like this friend stuff."

"Why not? Friends can get you by out here I think."

"Well you think too much," he said seriously, "'cause like it is even if we split up and even if we do make it to the end of the night, we're still gonna have to kill each other sooner or later."

"I guess," Ashley said, "there's no way getting out of this I'm thinking, you're not smart enough to figure a way out of here and god knows I'm not the brightest bulb in the circuit."

"Yup," he said as he took one final drag off of the cigarette and stubbed it out against the tree's bark.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

"Team up maybe?" Ashley replied.

"No," he replied simply as he shook his head, "not that I don't like you, not that I don't want you around, but, I can't say I entirely trust you. What's to stop you from runnin off and leaving me behind if things get hairy, or just plain old fashioned shooting me in the back?"

Ashley took a long time to think about what to say next. She was not normally one for many words, and this situation was one like many. She legitimately didn't know what to say, except, "I dunno."

A long silence fell between the two, one made of mutual respect and fear. Ashley was prepared to play the game should things turn south, but she wasn't yet in the position to believe that things were turning south. Call it cautious optimism, call it intuition, or call it plain old fashioned naïveté, she had a feeling that she was going to be the one coming out on top once all was said and done. Some way, somehow, that's how it was going to be.

Peter on the other hand treated the silence with a certain level of fear and apprehension. Something's gonna happen, something's gonna happen soon, are you going to let it happen or are you going to make it happen?

"Fuck it, let's just do this now," he said as he stood up and took off his army jacket. Ashley looked the other man up and down, he was indeed muscular in a dirty sort of way. His brown hair was mussed up at best, too short to have any real style to it. The goatee was choppy and half-bleached, but she found him pretty hot nevertheless. He did fill out the ratty AC/DC t-shirt quite well. As Ashley always said with some pride, the true way to her heart was either a goatee or a 36C.

"You want to screw?" she asked a bit sarcastically as he took off his jacket.

"Much as I'd like to," he said, "I really don't. This is a really sort of fucked up situation and I say we just take care of this here and now, we fight, one of us walks away, it's easy like that, right?"

Normally the fighter, Ashley almost couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth, "But we don't have to, we can just walk away and hope for the best, right? I like you, I don't wanna kill you, let's just walk away, or team up, aight?"

"No way in hell," he said, "no time like the present Ashley. I'm one for a fair fight, you get your iron, I'll get my club and we'll call it even, ok?"

Ashley didn't want to die, nor did she want to fight, at least not someone like Peter Larkin. She wouldn't have minded slapping around someone like Joel or Lisa, but Peter... he was good people. He'd have been a better ally than enemy, but he wasn't really keeping the options open as it was. Much as she didn't like it, and quite possibly against her better judgment, Ashley simply responded, "All right, let's go."

She flicked her cigarette into the bushes and stood up. Pulling off the auto-shop shirt she wore, she tossed it onto her pack, then lifting into her hands the tire iron that she had been assigned and standing proud in her gray wife-beater. Her weapon looked scrawny and pitiful in comparison to the lead pipe-like police baton that Peter carried. Taking the bandanna from around her wrist, she tied it around her forehead to help pull back her hair. Holding the weapon hard in one hand, she took a defensive stance and stared into Peter's dark eyes.

Carrying the baton in both hands, Peter held it like a bat. He squared off against the physically smaller, though by no means less imposing, Ashley. She was wiry, a warrior at heart, one who Peter knew he might or might not stand a chance against. There were people on the island who he would have preferred to execute with some glory, people who had pissed him off, people who had given him a hard time before. Standing in front of a warrior spirit like his own, Peter had a sense of pride.

They stood circling each other in a defensive stance for some time.

"Who's going to go first you think?" Peter asked, getting Ashley to laugh.

"I'll go when you go," Ashley said, quickly adding, "don't think I'll go easy on you 'cause I'm a girl."

"I'd say the same, except for the girl part," Peter remarked, then adding on, "though I will say that I will be extremely disappointed if both of us wind up walking away from this thing."

"I hear tha-" Ashley was cut off as Peter rushed her, aiming down and using his shoulder to get her in the gut. She was surprised, definitely surprised, quickly having the wind rush from her lungs.

"That the best you got?" she choked out with a gasp, kneeing Peter in the groin. The effect went by as expected, he stumbled back howling. At that, she ran out and hit once, twice, three times with the curved end of the tire iron to the back of Peter's shoulder blades. Once she heard a crack, shattering one of his collarbones by the sound of it.

In extreme pain, but by no means backing down, he struck out with the baton. Aiming for her knees, he instead hit one of her shins, causing Ashley to cry out in pain and fall to the ground. Was it broken? She didn't have time to think on the matter as Peter swung the baton and swung it hard, striking her in the head. Sharp pain shot through her entire body as everything went gray for a minute and she saw stars. Suddenly very nauseous, she vomited on Peter's shoes. This one seemed to throw him for a second, at which point she swung the tire iron down hard on his foot, definitely smashing it by the sound of his scream and the cracking of bone. Swinging far and hard, she hit his ankle. No longer just a broken foot, it stuck out at a bizarre and twisted right angle, causing Peter to fall to one knee.

As Ashley stepped up, preparing for a kill swing, Peter hit her hard in the chest with the baton. Sharp pain shot through her breast as the man had definitely hit a pressure point, and one of her favorite pressure points at that. She too was down to her knees, using one hand for support as all she could really feel was pain.

"Giving up?" Peter asked as he rasped through his breath, trying his best to stand on a shattered foot and not succeeding by any means. He was satisfied with a kneel, holding the baton as sort of a crutch.

"Never," she said with a crooked smile. Looking up, she could see as Peter raised the baton over his head with his only good arm in a killing stance. It would be easy, almost too easy hopefully.

Acting with surprising quickness, Ashley brought up the pointed end of the tire iron and swung it up in a sharp angle. It punctured through Peter's ribcage, causing him to drop his own weapon to the ground. Twisting the tire iron, Ashley drove it deeper. The weapon went deep, puncturing Peter's left lung and causing blood to flow profusely from his mouth and spurt from the wound.

"That the best you can do?" he managed to choke through the blood that was slowly drowning him.

At that, he fell to his back, coughing up blood and breathing shallowly. Ashley stood up, still trying to handle the pain and work through it. She had hoped that Peter would be dead. Looking down, she could see that he wasn't. He would be soon though by the looks of it. Not soon enough though, and the death would be a cruelly slow one at that by his appearance. She walked over to him and lifted up one of his arms and held him tightly around the wrist. Taking another step, she placed one of her booted feet on his neck. She looked down at him, and weakly he looked back up at her.

Peter was beat, he knew it. He was just glad that Ashley had the balls enough to finish him off instead of leave him fo-

Ashley pulled Peter's arm quickly, breaking his neck as his shoulder and neck area was stretched and relocated. As he exhaled his last breath, Ashley stood over her fresh kill, she didn't know what to do. She'd killed Peter, one of the few cute guys at school she'd consider sleeping with. She was covered in blood, his, hers, she didn't know. It would be a health class nightmare in discussions on AIDS. Part of her hoped he was clean, while the other part didn't really give a shit. She stuck the tire iron in her belt, and held the bloodied baton in her hand. Lifting it above her head, she let out a primeval roar into the sky.

Damn that felt good.


	10. Hour 5: 46 Contestants Remaining

Hour 5

46 Contestants Remaining

"Did you hear that?" Girl # 18, Sky Hawk asked.

"Just a scream," Girl # 20, Lexie Hawk replied, "we're bound to hear more of those."

"Sounded like a roar," Sky replied as she visibly shuddered.

"Could be," Lexie responded as she exhaled. They had been running for god only knows how long; neither of them wore a watch and neither of them really would've cared how long they were running because of it. They knew it was dark when everything started, and already the sun was starting to inch across the horizon. Nothing obvious, but light rays of purple stretching above the island, already casting an eerie glow on the wall of the random shed where the two girls rested.

They had stopped somewhere among the bases main area, though just where they couldn't quite tell. There were dozens of outbuildings, all of them made of the same non-descript concrete and wood materials. The fact that neither girl could read a map or use a compass all that well didn't make it any better.

The fact that they were lost and that they were more than likely surrounded by dozens of people who wanted to kill them wasn't the issue, although it occupied their thoughts, no, that wasn't a problem. Lexie and Sky were both athletes and fighters in their own respect, yet in completely different realms. Lexie was a star on the softball team, while Sky was a dancer and swimmer of many years, holding many regional medals in diving and speed while also being proud to be able to hold her breath of lengths upwards of five minutes.

No, the dangers outside weren't what scared both girls. There was one thing that scared them.

Only one person would be coming out of it all alive.

Being of the competitive sort, it was a concept that they could understand, and under any other circumstances both of them would have probably run into the thing all out and willing to kill.

The thing was... they were sisters. Identical twin sisters at that. They had a bond that couldn't even be equaled. Up until this moment in life they had done almost everything together, they "became women" at the same time, both broke their arms within the same week, they had lost their virginity on the same night (though to different boys, they shared a lot of things, boys were not one of them), and their bond was a very, very close, nearly spiritual, one.

Odds were that neither would be getting out alive, they both knew that. But just on the off chance that they would make it to the end together...

"So, what do we do?" Sky asked idly, her eyes wide with fear. She thumbed her randomly assigned weapon, an umbrella with a long metal tip. Rotating it around in her hand, she tried holding it defensively, but her shaking was so great that it fell to the ground.

Reasonably confident but more afraid than she would let on, Lexie flexed her hands around her weapon. It was randomly assigned, but it seemed that her weapon was chosen to be the tool of her trade: an aluminum baseball bat. She wrapped her fingers around it, tightening them, holding it, feeling its power. And it was good.

"Survive," Lexie said, "we have to just do what we can to get out of this thing. Find a way out of these…"

As she fingered her belt, Sky looked up and shot her eyes open. She spun her umbrella towards her sisters arm and shot it away from the belt.

"You nuts? You saw what happened to Nick!"

"We all did," Lexie said as she took her hand away, "I was just trying to make a point."

"Look, we can beat this thing," Sky said resignedly, "we just have to be fast. I really think we can."

"Beat it?" Lexie said, "there is no beating it, it's live or die, no more no less. If we make it to the end, which I don't think we will, but even if we make it to the end we're put in a pretty tough situation. I don't want to kill you, nor will I."

"And I'm not going to kill you either, I won't do it. I don't want to kill anyone."

"You're not making sense," Lexie replied, though as she tended to do with her sister, she didn't need to finish the thought. Part of her already knew what was coming, but part of her needed to hear it from her sisters own lips.

Exhaling, Sky slumped against the wall and looked at the ground.

"Why don't we just save ourselves the trouble?"

"What do you mean?" Lexie asked as she joined her sister.

"I say we just find a real tall cliff or building and jump together. We were born together, we've lived together, we might as well die together."

Sky held her sister's hands while a tear crossed down her face. At that sight, Lexie herself lost her resolve and collapsed, hugging her sister tight as she allowed herself to cry.

"I don't want to die," Sky choked through her tears, "but I don't want to lose you either. I couldn't live without you Lexie."

"Let's do that," Lexie said with a mixed sense of dread and happiness, "let's go out together."

The two sisters just held each other close, leaning against the wall of the building and crying their eyes out.

"I love you sis," Sky sobbed.

"I love you too," Lexie muttered before both girls wound up breaking down again.

* * *

Lori Nicotero, a.k.a. Girl # 1 was in a world of hurt. She didn't know why, but she was being hunted by someone of great determination. There was an explosion, that much she could remember. Off to her side several hours before there was an explosion. There was light, blinding light and sound, a loud bang. After that shock there was searing pain as she realized that there were extensive burns on her right side and thigh. At that, she had just started running. 

She had crossed the paths of a couple other students since then, but they had all been on their own missions. They all ran every which way while she was forced to stay on her own. It wasn't her near death experience or the burns on her side that took her down, but the sounds.

Someone was following her.

She could run, but whatever it was that was chasing her was determined. It was slow, it was fast, it was hunting her. It was out of sight, it was dark, and it was chasing her. As she started to wear out, getting tired of running through jungles and around old and rotted out buildings, she started to hallucinate. It was no longer a darkness chasing her. It had a shape, it had a form, and she could see it clearly.

It was a clown.

Clowns. Not a lot scared Lori, even though she was a loud and proud girly girl into makeup and sleeping with guys in an indiscriminate fashion. She was known for being loose, and, well, she did love sex, so who could argue? But clowns got to her. She saw the movie Poltergeist when she was little and was screwed up for life ever since. Clowns, hiding under the bed, around dark corners, in every particular position of darkness there were clowns. Evil, laughing, smiling, always looking for an opportunity to find you vulnerable and tear you apart. Clowns.

This clown was following her, that much was for sure, she could still hear it cracking through the brush, snapping twigs and branches, tearing through vines. She could hear it, the beast with it's rasping breath and cough, the beast with his large fangs which were sure to tear her to shreds.

Five hours she had been running from these demons of the night, their smiling and painted on faces terrorizing her. The burns in her side from some horribly aborted and painful magic trick. As her energy had run low, her resolve had grown higher and higher. Lori was going to make a stand.

As she rounded one grove of trees she found a building. It wasn't large, nothing more than a storage shed with concrete walls and a wooden door, but it would have to do. She darted in, slammed the door shut and hid right next to the door inside. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her weapon, a large fire ax. It would have to do. The clown with his explosive magic tricks would have to either put up or shut up. At the very least an ax to the mouth would make him shut up.

She stood next to the closed door, listening to her own voice and just barely able to see what was going on with no light in the room and one window just barely letting in a bit of purple light.

A minute passed, soon stretching to five, then ten, then fifteen minutes. The clown never appeared. She knew it was there though, it was watching her. She knew it.

The door creaked open. Her eyes barely adjusted to the light, Lori strained what muscles she had to make sure the swing would be quick, aiming it high so as to decapitate the monster clown of her nightmares, knocking its steel teeth out as it bled a horrible green and gushed it's murky blood all over the floor.

The figure creeped into the room. Lori swung the ax…

…and missed, lodging it into the door. She could see the figure spin around, and using the ax lodged in the door for support, Lori kicked it square in the chest. A female voice groaned in pain as it crumpled to the floor, giving Lori a chance to pull her ax out of the wall.

Another explosion, light filled the room behind Lori and she screamed. The figure on the ground screamed too, watching as Lori held the ax high above her head. Lori was taken aback as she adjusted to the dim morning light and could see what was on the ground. It wasn't the seven foot tall, three hundred pound clown with pale face and steel teeth as she had imagined in her nightmares. It was five foot nothing, barely one hundred pounds, and had a thin pair of glasses that accentuated her square face which hid a couple of small zits.

Lori held her ax above her head defensively in a position that kept Lara Drake, a.k.a. Girl # 24, pinned to the ground of her own volition, holding her oversized in appearance flare gun in hand on Lori. It was useless at the moment, her last shot blasting the wall behind Lori and keeping her one shot weapon without any power.

"You were following me! You tried to kill me!" Lori accused.

In her rasping voice, Lara coughed and spat against the wall.

"You fucked my boyfriend, seemed pretty damned justified at the time," Lara fired back.

Closing her eyes to push a headache out of her head, Lori practically laughed, "Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?"

"Luke," Lara practically hissed, "you fucked Luke and I was going to make you pay for it. Great thing this is, kill folks you don't like without a care in the world. I was gonna take you and him both out, it would've been beautiful."

Lori let a wry smile cross her face as she muttered, "Your facts are extremely off girlie," Lori spat back, "Luke came to me!"

A look of shock and disappointment crossed Lara's face.

"No," she muttered, "it's not possible."

"Yeah, believe it," Lori shot back, "your boyfriend came to me because he knew I was loose and because you wouldn't give him any. The guy's a slut, I mean, look at him, he's been with all sorts of guys and girls while you were saving it for marriage if I'm not mistaken?"

"But I…" Lara said, breaking into tears almost.

"You got morals which is admirable in this fucked up world," Lori said, lowering her ax to her side, "but sex is sex and he's a man, you don't give him what he wants and the shit hits the fan. Did you honestly think he'd save himself for you?"

Lara was breaking down at that, at which point Lori sat beside her in an oddly charitable act.

"I'm not the only one either. I was clean before I slept with the guy but I got a VD afterwards, and since you haven't slept with him either…"

A sickened look crossed Lara's face as she coughed once more and spit onto the wall.

"Oh," Lori said, "so that explains your throat."

Lara nodded with a sickened look on her face and tears rolling down her cheek. In an oddly charitable move, Lori wrapped one arm around Lara's shoulder and hugged her close.

"Look, Luke has caused us both a world of sickness and a world of hurt, and I don't know about you but I think we'll both be able to get by here if we stick together. I know what'll make you feel good… How about we go out, find Luke and string him up by the balls?"

Bringing back her evil smile, Lara looked through the tears and up at Lori, "You really mean it?"

"Sure," Lori said in her own evil manner, "you got that gun, I've got this ax, there's a whole lot of things we can do to take him out, and I think we'll be able to fend off some of the other psychos out there as well."

Coughing once more, Lara looked up and said, "Let's do it."

At that, Lori cracked out a plan in her mind and spread it out to Lara. The two women worked out a plan to find Luke and take him down for good. They laughed, they smiled, and as soon as something was set up for sure they walked side by side out of the building and into the uncertainty of the jungle and what the Battle Royale had to offer.

* * *

It was no secret that Brian Pavell, a.k.a. Boy # 9 was not a fan of women. He had gotten in trouble several times before for beating up girls at school, and under every circumstance that he could afford he would refuse to work with them. Women were useless, they had no purpose in life to him other than procreation, and even then he didn't look too interested towards the future with women. 

He wasn't gay, fuck no, if there's anything worse than women out there it's queers, and Brian most certainly would never be a queer. They were wrong. So, no women, no men, Brian was just looking to be anti-social. He'd be with the guys, he'd pick fights and beat up on his other classmates at school with the guys, and he'd get arrested with the guys. It was power.

Power, the one thing that had eluded Brian all his life.

Power, the thing that women had but didn't deserve or just used wrong.

Power…

Mom had the power. Brian always looked to his mom in the past, she had raised him on her own and taken care of him the best she could, which truth be told wasn't very good. The Pavell's were part of the darker side of suburbia. Mary Pavell, Brian's mother, was a known and oft-arrested alcoholic. As a baby Brian would often be in a crib in the same room crying his eyes out while his mother was passed out on a couch covered in vomit not but three feet away. Sometimes she'd show up with strange men who would give her money in exchange for sex. Sometimes they'd beat her and Brian if they saw it fit, and they all just walked away having that standard shit-eating grin on their face. They won, and they had used the woman right, and Brian just sat by learning all the way.

Mary of course didn't mind. The money paid for her drink, and Brian was good enough to help the welfare checks coming. It was a nice life, a sweet life. For Mary at least.

She would get drunk and abuse him from time to time, throwing him against the wall on some nights and smashing whiskey bottles while screaming at the top of her lungs others. It was no place to grow up in, no life for any child, but one that he survived and somehow thrived in.

When Brian was sixteen, he was old enough to fight back and would often kick and beat his mother back in similar ways that the men she slept with would. He would enjoy it, he would get off on it, he would receive his power from it.

Then one day they found his mother having drowned in the toilet, asphyxiating on the water and her own vomit. It was called a drug overdose, though some bruises on the back of her neck would have indicated otherwise. With not enough evidence to prove otherwise, Brian was left as an emancipated minor to fend for himself. And things were good.

Except he had no more power. Sure, he could be the bully and beat up other kids at school, but he had no power. Murder had felt great once before, for the whores who deserved it. All the girls whores, they all deserved to die. A look of pure rage crossed his face as he let the word cross his mouth. They all must die.

And now he could do it. He could kill the women, the whores, as he pleased and he could smile and laugh. The gun he cradled in his hand was a powerful talisman, letting him rain fire down upon all the whores. He had fired into a cluster of the worst whores already, but had since lost them when they returned fire. Since then he had gone hunting, searching for just the right ones.

There was a pair now. There were two, he could kill them easily. Point, click and fire, the automatic pistol would do the rest. Exiting the tree line, he opened fire on the two girls he saw and smiled.

* * *

The first few shots careened off of the concrete wall of the building, sending Sky and Lexie diving. The sisters dodged in different directions, parting from each other as they sought shelter. The next bullet fired hit Lexie in the shoulder, drawing blood in a spray against the wall. She screamed and fell to the ground. Barely a graze, but still hurt like a bitch. 

Brian laughed and walked up to the girl, aiming the gun to her face.

He could hear a scream from behind and barely had enough of a chance to turn before unbelievable pain shot through his body. Sky stood proud, holding her umbrella with great strength as she jammed it into Brian's right kidney. For the moment he was in too much pain to move, giving Lexie enough chance to recover. Jumping up, she ran over with her bat and slammed it into his shoulder. Brian screamed again.

Swinging her bat up in a long arc once more, Lexie prepared for the kill. Killing wasn't in her daily routine, but when in Rome…

Brian gathered what energy he could muster from pure rage, swinging up the hand he held his gun with and smashing it into the side of Lexie's face. The girl was sent sprawling to the ground once more, this time seemingly for good. In another quick arc, he aimed the Colt .45 at Sky.

"No," Sky said as she backed against the wall and away from Brian, "please, no!"

Brian fired four times in succession. The first shot slammed into Sky's stomach, spraying blood against the wall and opening up her belly. The next two went off to the side, both slamming into her left arm at the elbow. The first shot shattered it, while the second nearly severed it, leaving her arm hanging by some loose tissue and a couple tendons. The fourth and final shot went high, gouging a hole through Sky's neck, severing her artery and tearing open a hole in her throat. The blood bubbled and foamed at her neck as she collapsed to the ground.

Nursing his wounds and limping in pain, Brian twisted back around to Lexie. Fucking bitch, this hurts. I'm bleeding, too much, god damn it!

Lexie was recovering, looking on in horror as her sister fell to the ground in a bloody mess. She was backing away, her baseball bat seemingly useless. She could run, all she had to do was stand up, but the bullet wound and the blow to the head slowed her down, not to mention the fact that her twin sister lay dying not but four feet away. Nothing could save her, she was ready. She could see as Brian aimed the gun at her face. This was it, this would be the time…

A yell from the trees caught both of their attentions. A tall and wiry figure ran into the fray shrieking like a madman. In fact, all things considered, he probably was a madman.

Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12, came into the battle swinging his randomly assigned weapon. Brian was too confused to react, he just stared on as the banshee screaming Paul ran towards him. Paul swung the body of his weapon in both hands, smashing it into Brian's chest. Swinging it once more, he used the side of the flat blade to smack the gun out of Brian's hand.

"Where I come from we don't treat women like that," Paul practically hissed as he yank-started the chainsaw. Brian looked on in horror as Paul ran forward with the weapon. One swing and a gush of blood and all was over. Paul lodged the chainsaw blade into Brian's left shoulder, then pushed it down, slicing it through Brian's right side. The two halves of Brian fell down to the side, coating both Paul and Lexie in a thick layer of gore.

A moment of silence passed between them as both breathed heavily and looked upon each other. Lexie picked up Brian's gun and tentatively held it on Paul with a heavily shaking hand.

"If I was going to kill you by now," Paul commented, "I would have done it already."

Lexie held strong with her terror, lifting the pistol up and aiming it at Paul's chest. He just murdered that guy, cut him in half, he's all, god, we're all covered in, Jesus...

They stood by awkwardly for another moment, broken by a strange wheezing sound that had gone nearly forgotten. Looking down, Lexie could see Sky. She was still alive, nearly missing an arm with a large hole in her stomach and a large piece of her neck missing. There was blood everywhere, and she was very much alive, the blood from her severed artery sputtering as it passed over her shattered throat. She breathed in frantic gasps, eyes searching around wildly as her throat kept rasping and bubbling even more blood.

Lexie looked down pitifully. She would've cried, but in all honesty she was in too much shock. She lived, Sky wouldn't live another few minutes. The two sisters looked into each others eyes, Sky looking up pleadingly, sadly. The pain was gone oddly enough, she was dying and she wanted it to end.

Looking on sympathetically, Paul handed Lexie her aluminum bat. Lexie couldn't help it, she began to bawl.

Still, she ended her sister's suffering.


	11. Hour 6: 44 Contestants Remaining

Hour 6

44 Contestants Remaining

There were over eight thousand cameras of all shapes and sizes around the island, set to follow the every movement of every contestant in day and night. In times of inclement weather and poor lighting, the camera's could easily switch to night vision or a thermal view that could track based on body heat. These were all for the purposes of the gamblers and viewing public in general. Millions would be made worldwide from the pay-per-view coverage of the event, while even more would be made by the merchandising rights that followed. Already t-shirts, trading cards and bios on certain contestants were on sale and flying off the shelves. 

Alongside the cameras were a centrally located system of loudspeakers. They didn't have any practical purpose for the game itself (particularly without the need to announce new danger zones), but being as how they were a tradition in the Japanese and French editions of the game it seemed just that they be used in the American version as well.

Already at the six hour point, the speakers cracked to life, the voice of popular DJ in the Braiwood area J.J. Squalls. Much like he did in his introduction at the bunker, he had an odd sort of cheer that seemed obscene given the circumstances.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING BATTLE ROYALE! Rise and shine kiddies it's six in the morning, time for killin and blood spillin. You're doing a fabulous job so far, all your parents have called in and they're cheering you on, even the dead ones! Anyhow, here's a list of your friends and the order in which they died. We all know Boy # 25 Nick Savini and Girl # 13 Tamyra Carpenter, but they don't count so let's get to the REAL killing now shall we?"

It was possible to hear him laugh before taking a swig off one of his many beers, "Boy # 4, Homer Brannick, first to die by being flung into a Danger Zone. Congratulations Carter on drawing first blood. Boy # 14, Peter Larkin, beaten, impaled and had his neck broken, nicely done Miss Vasquez. Girl # 18, Sky Hawk, nearly shot to death by one of today's MVP's, Brian Pavell, but actually killed by none other than her own sister! I tell you guys, I love this game more and more with each passing hours. I'd like to congratulate Brian personally, but he's the last name on the list for these six hours, Brian Pavell, Boy # 9, cut apart by our friend Paul Holt with a chainsaw. Well done Holt."

The sound of typing on a keyboard could be heard over the loudspeakers, at which point J.J. spoke again.

"Now, the fans have spoken and the results are in, and the greatest kill of the first six hours goes to... Boy # 12, Paul Holt! Head on over to the radio tower Holt, it is temporarily not a danger zone so pick up your prize and get the hell out. That is all everyone, keep the blood running! We're all rooting for you out here! And now for some music to kill by, PEACE!"

As he shut up the sound of an old record player scratching and spinning could be heard, with pops and hissing soon replaced by a heavy and thudding Queen bass line.

"_Steve walks warily down the street,_

_With the brim pulled way down low,_

_Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet,_

_Machine guns ready to go,_

_Are you ready, are you ready for this,_

_Are you hanging on the edge of your seat,_

_Out of the doorway the bullets rip,_

_To the sound of the beat!_

_Another one bites the dust,_

_Another one bites the dust,_

_And another one gone, and another one gone,_

_Another one bites the dust!_

_Hey, I'm gonna get you too,_

_Another one bites the dust..."_

* * *

Boy # 22, Francisco "Frank the Tank" Marquez was tired. Being a very big guy made it pretty easy to tire down, though looking at his watch helped explain it even more. He hadn't had any real sleep (not counting the knockout gas they'd had on the bus) in maybe 24 hours, waking up to graduate the day before and going now to the Battle Royale. He didn't dare sleep. He wanted to sleep, he needed to sleep, but he couldn't. There was just no way to be safe. 

Out here, at least the way he figured, there was safety in numbers. He had spent hours trying to find someone, anyone that he could work with to try and figure things out. As of yet, the options were rather poor. Walking by the airfield earlier, he heard a shot whiz by his ear and lodge in a tree near his face and throwing splinters all around.

Stay away from the airfield, that one was settled.

He tried checking around more of the other buildings with little luck, they were all for the most part deserted. Running from one to the next in the small town setting, he approached a building with a red cross on it and boards nailed up over its windows. An infirmary, at the very least it looked solid enough to rest in.

Getting closer, he jumped as a shot was fired from the window. This one he could not only hear and feel, but he could see, a bright flash emanating from the roof and a hiss as the bullet flew by and slammed into the dirt.

"Get out if you know what's good for you!" a female voice yelled. It had a slight Asian accent to it, and from everyone on the list, it was quite probably Ayane.

After being shot at twice, Francisco had taken off running into the jungle blindly, just looking over his shoulder whenever he needed to. Running and sprinting the best his massive frame could, Francisco was afraid for the first time in a long time that he could remember. Fear was not something that he had had a lot of experience with, he was always the calm type, the nice type, the guy people could go to when they had a lot on their minds. He would never stress before tests, always shrugging and figuring he'd try his best no matter how bad it got.

The worst was just after he had run away from the infirmary. Minutes before exhaustion had finally taken him down, Frank literally plowed down another of his classmates. His first instinct was to run, then to apologize, but looking down he was sick. It was Gervase, or at least at one time it had been. He was pale as a ghost, with bloody lines drawn across his body and a mouth full of blood. His thumbs were missing, and in more ways than one he had the appearance of a monster.

"Heeeeeeelme," he slurred as blood seemed to congeal from his mouth, "Heellmeeeeeee!"

Terrified and revolted, the most humanity that Francisco could pull off caused him to run. He had knocked Gervase down and kept on running. That's the nice guy, that's the humanitarian. Good job Frankie, kept on running.

He cursed himself. Quite the humanitarian, friendly guy Frankie. Gervase was your friend, you sat next to him at graduation, what, twelve hours ago? You sure treated him right. It could be worse though. It could be raining.

Gasping heavily, Francisco corrected himself. No, there is something worse than rain. Humidity. Humidity's a killer, 'specially if you're carrying some extra weight. Francisco wiped sweat from his brow and swatted idly at the mosquitoes that were alighting on his skin. Momma always said cut back on the pizza, but did you listen to her Frankie, no, no, where's the fun in that? Pizza's with an inch thick layer of meats and loaded with cheese, how can they be resi-

A masculine yet still high pitched shriek caught Francisco off-guard. Whirling around, he was quick enough to catch sight of his attacker before they had sprung. Boy # 6, Josh Peters was barely half the size of Frank, but he was running with all his might and screaming like a banshee. The look on his face was wild and almost feral, while in both his hands he held above his head what Francisco could only see as a small piece of wood. As Josh bounded closer, Frank could see the weapon. It had a small, almost invisible blade, like an ice pick or a stiletto. As the little man sprinted closer, Francisco stepped out of the way and tripped Josh.

The smaller boy was sent sprawling, rolling on the ground as the ice pick clattered out of his grasp. As he rolled over onto his back, Josh looked up with fear upon Francisco.

"Please, don't kill me! I'm just trying to live! Really, I didn't mean to, I'm just scared, I'm..." Josh said quickly with wide eyes and a quivering mouth.

"I ain't gonna kill ya," Francisco said with a huff as he let down his guard. He knew Josh and liked the guy, everyone did to an extent. If Joel was the school's king, his slut of the month his queen and the brat packers the princesses, Josh was most definitely the court jester. Sure he was loud and brash sometimes, but his diminutive frame hid a brain that was sharp and rapid-fire. If there was anyone Francisco had not anticipated to take part in the game, it would have been Josh.

And although fear was apparent on his face, what Francisco could not see was the little hamster wheel inside of Josh's tiny skull was running a mile a minute. Fear, paranoia, desperation. Find a way out.

"You're not going to kill me?" Josh asked, feigning puzzlement.

"Don't think I can," Francisco said, "this ain't my game. I can live, but killin… I don't know. It just ain't right, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know," Josh continued, working with the limited material and trying to come up with a good response, "sorry about the whole attacking you with an ice pick thing, I didn't know if you were one of the good guys or the bad guys, and I seen plenty of bad guys around here recently."

"Ain't that the truth," Francisco said, pulling the neck of his shirt up so that he could wipe his forehead again.

"So, what now?" Josh asked idly.

"Try and find a way out of here," Francisco said, "try and find anyone who can figure a way out and get the hell out of here. Neither of us is very smart, but I know there's some smart people out here. Ayane, Doug, AJ, Damien, there's all sorts of smart people here. We just find the other people and they can find a way to get us out, I'm sure of it."

"Sounds like a plan," Josh said with a smile. Francisco put his hand out with a warm smile, taking Josh's own and helping him stand. Josh let a wide smile cross his face as the two men, one significantly dwarfing the other, walked along.

Stopping to tie his shoe, Josh let another grin cross his face as he said, "You know Frankie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Francisco looked down and smiled, before starting to walk off once more with Josh in tow. Where they were headed, he wasn't sure. What was going to happen, he didn't know, but he had hopes. Before he didn't have hopes, thinking the game would keep people in fear and on edge. No one no matter how tight the connection would trust anyone and everyone would be out to kill everyone. Josh, he was one of them at first, but looking into his eyes, Francisco knew it was just one of those random moments of fear. If everyone can team up, if we can all work together, then we're all going to get along just fine and we'll be able to work through it. That's how everything works, that's how it always has, and god-willing always will.

Josh looked ahead and was surprised that it worked. False sincerity, the nice guy act, it worked. He couldn't believe that it actually worked. It's not that Josh didn't like Francisco, who couldn't? Francisco was one of the sweetest guys in school who would give you the shirt off his back if you needed something to wipe your nose on. The thing that did get to Josh was the fact that Francisco was huge. And a huge guy, with morals or not, would be dangerous down the line if pushed into a corner. Give Francisco a gun, a knife, or even a large piece of wood and he could easily wind up surviving until the end. Hell, for all Josh knew Frankie's nice guy routine could have also been an act; he could have intended to use the class clown as a human shield. How nice would that be?

Feigning a stumble, he deftly picked up the ice pick he'd dropped only moments before and got up, concealing the weapon perfectly. Following Francisco, Josh rotated the pick downwards to be used at a stabbing angle. He pounced quickly, taking a long slash at Frank's back. The pick went in shallow, creating a long slash that went all the way down his back and lodging itself in Francisco's right thigh. The big man screamed out in pain and whirled around, backhanding Josh in the face. He pulled the pick from his leg and approached Josh.

"No, no, no, ok, I'm sorry!" Josh cried out in fear as he tried to whirl and run away. Francisco's response was simple, grabbing Josh by the wrist and tossing him face first into a nearby tree. Josh slumped down, bleeding from the scalp and very unconscious. He panted, holding the ice pick with his own blood on it as it dripped off and into the bushes. God damn, hurts like a son of a bitch.

Francisco was angry, though he couldn't figure out at who more. He was angry at himself for letting his guard down and actually expecting good in people when he probably shouldn't have. He was angry at Josh for actually attacking him, but perhaps most angry at the program itself. What's wrong with the world when something turns such a nice and funny little guy like Josh into a wannabe murderer? It's messed up man, just all sorts of messed up.

Toying with the weapon in his hand, Francisco recognized that he could kill Josh easily. Push it in one ear; point goes out the other, stop the thoughts from coming nice and fine. Just like dad said. What does dad know? He was in prison, not CIA assassin training. Still, can't argue with results.

He held the ice pick and approached Josh. Placing the tip in Josh's ear, he held a rock in the other hand. One tap to the handle of the pick and it would kill Josh nice and fine. Pulling his arm back far, Francisco imagined hammering the ice pick into Josh's brain with the rock. It would be easy, too easy. End a life, a dangerous life, a potentially evil life, save myself and a lot of other people some good trouble assuming Josh really had turned evil.

No, no, no way in hell. This is Josh! This isn't some nameless, faceless killing machine out for blood, this is Josh! You've known him since the fourth grade, when he had that huge headgear for the braces and could fire rubber bands with his tongue. No, this just ain't fair. It ain't right. But, leave him be and he's still a danger.

Francisco gauged his options, and none were good. Then he looked to his bag, left on the ground from when he decided to rest. An idea sparked in his mind, and it seemed brilliant.

* * *

Half an hour later everything seemed set. He had used much of his randomly assigned weapon, a roll of duct tape, and made Josh no longer a danger. He had first hog-tied him, then wrapping pretty much all of Josh with a layer of tape that made him look like some crazy sort of cocoon. Hanging him by his hands and feet from a tree just made the effect work. 

As Francisco was finishing his masterpiece, Josh was stirring, or more precisely groaning as his head felt like it was splitting open.

"Wha, what happened?" Josh asked as he realized that the whole world just didn't seem right.

"Can't have you chasing me around," Francisco said, "don't take it personal or nothing, but I'm gonna keep my distance from you Joshie boy. You work at it enough and you can get out of there, but it'll take you a while and give me enough time to put some distance between you and me, aight?"

At that, Francisco gathered up his and Josh's packs. Francisco held the ice pick defensively in one hand, though admittedly in his massive hand it looked like a pencil stuck in a turkey. He looked at Josh pitifully for a second before walking away.

"Hey, wait, you can't leave me like this! Come on, I'm sorry, I was scared, I'm still scared, please, don't leave me like this! Hey, wait, don't leave me like this! DON'T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS, PLEASE, I'M SCARED, CAN'T YOU JUST HELP ME?" Josh yelled as he watched Francisco walk away.

Francisco himself tried not to listen, but the voice already started to haunt him. He started running, trying to get away from the sound at all costs. The wails of Josh Peters would haunt Francisco for the rest of his life.

* * *

Boy # 17, a.k.a. Damien Myers was a big fan of repressed memories. During consciousness the dangers of these so-called traumatic memories would never change his course, never distract him or let him second-guess himself, as frankly, he had no control over them. The piece of metal in his skull offered him protection like no other in terms of repressed memory, severing the conscious side of most everything that happened before the accident. Two years back. It was bad. It took his arm, it scarred his body and destroyed his mind. All memories he had stemmed from the past two years, pulling together the tatters of what life he had and what the doctors had told him. For Damien Myers, the only true feeling he had towards the car accident was pure and unadulterated hatred, much like his feelings towards The Brat Pack and other students who weren't quite tolerant of those who were different. 

The unconscious told a completely different story. His dreams brought back the memories of the past sixteen years, memories with startling clarity that went up until a few days after he was born. Then again, the life as he knew it wasn't his life, something just didn't seem right about it. Whatever existed in his head, Damien wasn't able to really determine what was real and what was not. There were times when he really wanted to decipher the thoughts, and there were times he'd have rather forgotten that the whole other side of him existed. And then of course... there was The Demon. It was a side that he'd always had, yet never vocalized. It was given a name by those whores, and in time they even gave birth to the creature he would become. It would be getting retribution soon enough, yes, soon. He smiled.

The memories in the dreams were pleasant. He had a mother, a sister, friends who he'd play Nintendo with. Watching The Smurfs and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, dad teaching him to shave, to drive. Good memories of happy times. School, school was always fun, great friends, good teachers, even in high school. Mrs. Nicholson. Field trips to museums. Watching sex-ed videos and listening to the two or three really strange guys in the back pleasing themselves. Everyone spoke with an east coast accent? One bus ride to go and the train of thoughts disappears...

"WE HAVE OURSELVES A WINNER!"

Hearing those fateful game show words shoot through his mind shot Damien back into consciousness. It was light out. Sun shining, morning time, people would be easier to see, easy targets, easy to find. He smiled his crooked and broken smile. The rays of sun caught him like trails of blood. Crazy times.

Crazy, there is no crazy. There's unwell, disabled, unbalanced, insane, and maybe a little nutso. No, no, no, no, NO! Fallback, the fallback, the good fallback the happy fallback. Mad. Mad Magazine doesn't stand a chance against the real mad, good old Normy Bates sort of mad. We all go a little mad sometimes, haven't you? Just stop it, stop it, STOP IT!

Sliding down from the tree, Damien stretched. Everyone was running around by now, they must all be running around crazy and shooting and stabbing each other. And they're all tired. None of them have slept in more than 24 hours, give or take. Thank you graduation!

As he wobbled about, getting his bearings, Damien searched for a weapon. The one from his pack was completely useless. A CD case? Seriously, these guys got some sort of delightfully fucked up sense of humor. Bending over, he rifled around a bit in the underbrush before finding a suitable weapon.

The rock was nice. It was the size of a softball and had all sorts of random sharp corners on it. Swinging it in one good arc, he slammed it against the tree that he had slept in. It dented the trunk, taking good chunks of bark off in sheets.

"Excellent," he said to himself as he licked his broken teeth.

Two goals of the day, though there's three days to do them. First, kill the Brat Pack, though that was a given and can be lingered out as long as possible. He had plans, good plans, good ideas. Killing them would be fun, but watching them squirm would be even more fun. Like putting a few cats in a dryer and turning it on. They think they are great friends, but give them reason to do otherwise and they'll wind up tearing each other apart. That's the fun part.

Second goal, probably should be the first but not as important as brutally murdering those sluts. Find an ally. Find someone whose hatred of the females would rival your own and take them alongside. Find someone who would take particular delight in watching them die. Find someone with the potential to be a brutal sadist, but who hasn't realized it. Find someone who realizes that they'll kill if given the reason. More importantly though, someone with two hands. Damien was good, but even he was man enough to realize some things were best done with two hands.

He didn't even need to think to come up with the name. Someone whom the girls had tormented for years upon years. Someone who was self-conscious about their physical condition. Someone who's smart and could be taken advantage of.

Hunched over, Damien Myers bounded through the forest in search of an ally. It would be a beautiful day and an even more beautiful night if all works well.


	12. Hour 7: 44 Contestants Remaining

Hour 7

44 Contestants Remaining

There was a lot of lumber stacked around the infirmary, thank god. A lot of it came from that stack of two by fours in the basement, sure they were old and slightly rotted, but still useful when need be. Luckily neither time nor humidity had torn them apart. Not too much at least. A box of nails and anything heavy that they could improvise as a hammer made the rest of the operation simple as that.

So, for the last several hours, Dora Janovec (Girl # 9), Brynn Sanchez (Girl # 6), Serenity Powers (Girl # 12) and to an extent Ayane Fujikawa (Girl # 14) had been placing boards on the windows and nailing them shut. More often than not, Ayane had avoided doing the grunt work, staying instead on the roof with her rifle ready to strike. Already a few had run by, at which point Ayane would fire a warning shot to scare them off. It had been unbelievably simple, and Ayane was proud of their work. The base was solid, everyone was more or less happy and healthy, and things were going to be all right, at least for the time being. Everything was perfect...

Well, in Ayane's eyes at least everything was perfect. As anyone who knew the two would explain, Brynn didn't quite share the same optimism that Ayane had. Well, in her mind optimism wasn't the right word, more like fear combined with annoyance under these circumstances. As things tended to go, Brynn was always in conflict with Ayane over who was really the ringleader of their little group, and their ideas on almost every issue differed largely. While Ayane said she would wait for marriage to go all the way, Brynn was happy to be using her sexuality as power (and on occasion even currency). Ayane was great with her words and was elegant in her brief stint on the debate team, while Brynn was blunt and preferred actions over words. The fact that they were polar opposites made them unlikely friends, but their bond through the cheerleading squad was close.

The only problem was that when they disagreed, they were hardly close and extremely confrontational. This normally wouldn't be considered a problem since they usually got along, but with the stress as high as it was, they were practically ripping at each other's throats. Ayane was smart, but she didn't like getting her hands dirty; a fact that pissed Brynn off to no end. It had been Brynn's idea to board up the doors and windows. It was Brynn who found the extra lumber, it was Brynn who had figured to break the tables off and use their surfaces to take on the window. The only ideas that Ayane contributed were tipping a refrigerator over in front of one set of doors near the back and breaking off some of the interior doors to block the others.

Brynn wandered around their base and surveyed the layout. There were five main rooms: a waiting room, an office, two examination rooms and one room with bunks for patients. The basement was basically storage, filled with various tools, outdated bandages and old medications that had bled through their containers and rotted and lots and lots of boxes. Ayane had claimed the office, nailing all their maps in their plastic sheaths onto the wall. She had used an old chalkboard in the room to write out as many of the other contestants as the group had seen along with all their weapons. In a game where knowledge could be as potent a weapon as any gun, it made sense to try and know who had what and who would be a real danger.

Francisco, unarmed. Mike V., holding a chain? Lori, ax, Lara, gun, they teamed up?

Each of their identical student lists already had six names slashed out: Nick, Tamyra, Homer, Peter, Brian, Sky. Six people already down, the number seemed astounding, and the fact that it was more than likely climbing at a steady rate was even more astounding.

Ayane left her war room (as Serenity had dubbed it) and continued to load the rifle she had received from Dora. She needed to get back to the roof. As soon as she discovered that staircase that led to the roof, Ayane had spent all the time she could hiding out on top, ready to fire at anyone who would get too close. Ayane had become particularly possessive of the group's two deadly weapons, the machete and the rifle. She wore the machete like a cutlass of pirate days and the rifle always in hand. She was sleep deprived and looking just a little bit crazy. Arguing with her was impossible, and Brynn was very glad that she was out of the way. What Brynn wasn't pleased about was the precise fact that Ayane was sleep deprived and had possession of their only gun. Already everyone (except maybe that dead weight Tammy girl) had gotten at least a brief nap to catch up and stay frosty, but Ayane, she was just up there and keeping that wild look that she'd adopted. Probably shock from that hole in her shoulder, but, hell, we're all a little screwed up out here, she can't take all the crazy rights.

All in all, looking at Ayane's leadership decisions, Brynn was wondering why in the hell everyone followed her. Well, she has the gun, that's enough reason to follow her, but Dora didn't have to give it up. She's smart, but smart ain't a whole lot of good when you're in a killing game. And then of course there was Dora. Ayane's tolerance of Dora was the other big problem for Brynn. It wasn't so much Dora that bothered her, but the fact that Dora demanded that they bring along that dumb bitch Tammy. She was dead weight, and if anything bad was going to happen, she was liable to get someone killed. Brynn wasn't quite sure what she was going to do about the game, but knew that one way or the other she was going to finish this game. Come hell or high water, Brynn Sanchez will beat this thing.

Walking into the biggest room of the bunch, Brynn cautiously walked past the ten cots that they had lined up. Serenity and Dora were fast asleep in two of them, while Tammy sat on one, rolled up in a ball and rocking back and forth, banging her head against the wall. Every time she impacted, she hit the wall with a meaty THUNK.

"That can't be healthy," a craggy voice said from behind.

THUNK

Brynn turned around, looking to the cot directly behind her. Cheryl was awake, albeit not looking very good. The gunshot wound to her stomach was not as life-threatening as it had seemed, direct pressure and a thick layer of bandages proved that, but she had lost a lot of blood and her skin was a deathly pale color. She was likely going into shock, and the most movement she could muster was propping herself up on the bed to look at Brynn as she passed.

"I wouldn't think so," Brynn replied, trying to force a smile. If it had been up to Brynn, she would've shot Tammy and Cheryl and used the three remaining girls as a formidable gang of sorts. It would have most definitely worked. Then again, that's why Brynn was never in command.

THUNK

"How you holding up?" Brynn asked.

"I got shot in the fuckin stomach, how do ya think I'm holding up?" Cheryl asked in a smarmy manner, playfully flipping Brynn the bird.

Brynn couldn't help but laugh.

"We're all going to die you know," Cheryl mentioned deadpan and coughed.

"Yup," Brynn responded.

"I mean, even if this Battle Royale didn't happen I wouldn't have put a long lifespan on any of us," Cheryl said sardonically. She was beyond the point of caring, and staring at the ceiling while sounding apocalyptic seemed like a damned good idea at the time.

"How's that?" Brynn said amused.

"Ayane's too driven for her own good, she's gonna find herself someone more competitive than her one of these days and they're gonna tear her a new one. Serenity's too much into the boozing and partying, she's gonna OD or get alcohol poisoning one of these days."

She gulped and coughed again, "Or both. Dora's gonna be charitable to a homeless person with a rusty knife one of these days, so nothing helpful there, and you're a ho. Big one too, whatever's breeding down there is eventually gonna take over your immune system and will take over your brain in short time."

Brynn couldn't help but laugh.

"And me, I've got a hole in my gut that hurts like a sonofabitch. And I've probably lost a couple pints of blood. Probably lose a few more before I die."

"We got the bleeding down pretty good," Brynn added.

"Tell that to my stomach."

"Fair enough," Brynn replied with a diminished smile, "but I heard that you can survive a day or two with a gunshot to the stomach like that, we'll figure a way out of this thing by then I'm sure. Ayane's got a brain on her ya know?"

"I do know," Cheryl responded, "and I also know that if we're relying on Ayane for our survival that we're all as good as dead right now."

"Yeah," Brynn said resignedly, "I thought as much."

An odd silence filled the room as they listened to Serenity snoring absentmindedly.

"Can I ask you something?" Cheryl blurted out with a sputtering cough.

"Sure," Brynn said as she helped her friend wipe her chin, "anything."

"If we get to tomorrow and nothing happens," she muttered as if trying to find the words in a heavy fog, "if I really get bad, will you take care of me? I don't want to go like this, I don't want to die like some terminal cancer fuck on my bed like this. My grandma died like this, took her months from some cancer I can't even pronounce, she was all up and over raving and shitting and she didn't know about it, I don't want to be that bad. If I get that bad, you'll take care of me, right?"

"Yeah," Brynn said, "if it gets that bad, I'll do you, I'll do me... I'll take care of all of us."

"And coach said you weren't a team player," Cheryl said as she tried to force a laugh.

Smiling once more, Brynn felt sympathy for the first time in a while as it seemed. If it had been up to her, they would've ditched Cheryl in the forest and just let her die. She was probably Brynn's best friend within the Brat Pack, but with that hole in her belly she was definitely there to slow them down. If it had been up to her, they never would have even taken Tammy with them, though that means Dora would have to go too. In a world where the strong survive a humanitarian would be dangerous to bring along. They would cause doubt, create danger, say that a person should not be killed when they should be. The humanitarian could not survive in a dog eat dog situation, and as it was, Dora was just that humanitarian.

And it made Brynn sick. Dora never belonged to the Brat Pack. She never had anything worthwhile to contribute to the group, except for the fact that she was a cheerleader and that she was Ayane's friend, no more, no less. She had the goods, she had the talent, she just didn't have the mentality. Seriously, in Brynn's mind at least, being self-impressed was seriously underrat-

BLAM

The sound of a rifle shot echoed through the room, causing those in cots to jump up in fright.

"Stay the hell away if you know what's good for you!" they could all hear Ayane yelling. Brynn simply rolled her eyes. I'm gonna die because of that bitch, that's not justice. That just plain sucks.

* * *

Boy # 3, a.k.a. Blake Morrow, wasn't dying even though it sure as hell felt like he was. He would soon enough anyway, that much he knew. He had walked by the infirmary, heard a thunder-crack and felt searing pain in his belly. A bullet had torn through his side, just ripping at the flesh but doing enough damage to slow him down. It wasn't even bleeding really, it was just a flesh wound from all he could tell. 

Ayane was up there, yelling at him from on top of the infirmary and chambering her rifle once more. Psycho bitch, no way in hell am I gonna try her on for size out here.

He had run for a long time just to keep distance between them, leaves and bushes tearing at his wound and leaving traces of blood all over, yet for some reason he didn't care. It would all be over very, very soon.

After some considerable wandering, he finally found a building he deemed suitable to settle down in for the moment. It was dilapidated to all hell, but was substantial in size and would keep distance between him and the psycho bitch. Those qualifiers already made it look like the Taj Mahal in his eyes. Checking the map, he guessed that it was The Officer's Quarters. It'll do.

Sick and tired of being sick and tired, he had entered the building without so much as an attempt to close the front door. He tore through the quarters of the base's commander and set out a plan. Using a notebook from his shirt pocket, he had quickly scrawled out a few pages before quickly putting it back in. He searched about the quarters frantically, looking for something, anything that would fit the criteria he had in mind. Anything, a knife, a piece of sharp glass, anything, just anything that was better than that joke of a weapon they'd assigned him. Magic Marker, yeah, that's dead already.

He found it in the medicine cabinet. Beautiful.

Sitting down in an old chair in front of an even older desk, Blake looked at his prize. It was a straight razor, one that looked older than he was. It was a bit dull and a slightly rusty, but carving into the desk proved that it was still sharp as ever. He ran it across one index finger, drawing blood. Bright red, that's healthy, right? He experimentally dragged his finger across the wall, wincing with the pain but noting the mark it made. He smiled, intent on getting perhaps the only bit of justice that would come from this game.

Squeezing his fingertip, he drew more blood and eventually spelled out two words on the wall.

SICK FUCKS

That about summed it up right. He smiled, looking at the wall as if it were a Monet. Nice work, a good legacy. If the notebook was his last work, then the wall would sum up his last words rather nicely. Blake smiled wide, satisfied with his efforts. He smiled like he never smiled before, almost as if to convince himself that he needed to smile. He wanted to laugh, he needed to laugh, but couldn't manage that. The smile would have to do.

With all that said and done, he quickly opened up the straight razor fully and forced a long vertical tear on his left wrist, digging deep and slicing into the artery. With blood literally spurting everywhere and his left hand convulsing, Blake painfully switched hands and did the same to his right wrist, cutting in even deeper and severing that artery. He put the blade in his right hand, his strong hand by comparison, and slowly dragged the blade twice across his throat in a sawing motion, cutting into his windpipe and both jugulars. Within two minutes, he asphyxiated on his own blood and lost consciousness, and within five minutes he was dead.

Blake was never one to do anything half-assed.

**

* * *

THE SUM OF BLAKE'S NOTES, RECOVERED POST-GAME FROM HIS FRONT LEFT SHIRT POCKET:**

"Well if you're reading this now, I'm dead, and odds were you're also reading this through several layers of my blood that have undoubtedly caked my shirt and pretty much everything around me. Dad was a surgeon, he showed me how to do it right, cut them main arteries and end it real quick. None of these horizontal lines on the wrists, they're for wimps who are doing that whole 'cry for help' thing. However if you're reading this right now I'm sure you're also interested in my reasons behind it and well, I might as well indulge you since I haven't anything better to do at the moment other than, well, die. Battle Royale, two words. I'm in it and I don't want to be a part of it. We're not even going to discuss the constitutionality of the issue as I'm sure it breaks at least three or four of the amendments, maybe even more, but we now live in a time when the constitution is pretty much a joke, so why am I even bothering? Anyhow, again I'm off the topic. Right now all of us are locked in mortal combat for our lives, why? Is it because we have done something wrong? Nope. This in itself is the prime problem with the Battle Royale program, look at the people involved. We were chosen at random, meaning that for all the rotten apples that you so called big wigs chose there are the good people thrown into this private hell as well. I've heard the names of the people who have died, Homer, Peter, Brian and Sky. Homer and Brian are spoken for, those pricks deserve what they got. Peter, what can I say, he was a badass but a decent guy, and Sky? She didn't deserve this. Sky's got more grace in death than most of us will ever have in life. I've seen three people die within ten minutes of each other in Nick, Tamyra and Mr. Rhodes, and those are three more than anyone should have to see in your life. I've only spent maybe six or so hours in this game and have seen hell, I thoroughly pity the person who actually does win this and what they will have to see.

This program is supposed to be used for purification of the future generations, but the fact that one class of about forty or fifty students a year does little with our population as high as it is. The fundamental principles of this program are flawed. So, what's it really for? Y'all and I both know that it's just for the almighty dollar. How much are you sick fucks making off of the game? Millions? Billions? You're all going to burn for this, and I am not going to give you the pleasure of letting your game take me. I've considered taking myself for some time now believe it or not, even before your game, and you're giving me a dandy excuse to try it out. They say suicide is painless, well I'm about to find out up close and personal, although given my chosen method it'll probably hurt like hell for a little while. So, without further adieu, to the government officials I'd like to say fuck y'all you sick fucks, suck on it and burn in hell, and to the rest of my classmates, may you poor bastards find a way out of this thing before you let them all take you and cause you to take over the game. Nobody will rescue you, that's just life. You have to make it out on your own. Fight the sick fucks and get the hell out. I don't have the strength to do it, but you all do. Doing this is the last way I can think of to piss on 'em. Good luck, god speed. Do what you can to not let this take you.

Respectfully submitted,

Blake Morrow IV


	13. Hour 8: 43 Contestants Remaining

Hour 8

43 Contestants Remaining

More than anything else at the moment, Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4, wanted a hero. It's not that she needed one and was completely incapable of taking care of herself, rather it was quite the contrary. Her small frame, short blonde hair and conservative glasses hid the fact that she was a true fighter and more than willing to stand up for herself. The snub-nosed revolver and box of bullets that she had been given more than made up for her physical inferiorities to her fellow competitors. She was no damsel in distress, but still she felt she needed rescue. She wanted a helicopter to come flying in, guns blazing, rescuing her and every other person off the island so that they could go to the mainland and laugh the experience off over drinks and regain what little sanity that remained.

But of course, that wasn't going to happen. She sighed as she looked through the trees in the grove she sat in. The sun was rising and already the heat was unbearable. It had been hot and humid when it was dark, and now that the sun was up, it was brutal. It was hot, it was wet, it was ugly. Clouds of flies and other biting bugs swarmed around, and Katherine was not looking forward to how it was going to smell in the next twenty-four hours or so. As soon as the body count starts to rise and the flies get to them, the island would be smelling pretty foul. Katherine mused about idly as she had her jacket from the night before tied around her waist and her t-shirt tied in the middle to expose her stomach.

A hero. She regained her train of thought and thought back. There hadn't been many heroes in her life, even though she had needed them a few times over. Actually, she needed a hero and good taste in men. The last few she had dated seemed like nice enough guys, but of course they had been out to show their bad sides soon thereafter. What was it with guys these days? Everyone's embracing violence and brutality over kindness and love. Athletes treated like Gods, criminals either let to run free or shot. It was a messed up world...

Then there was the title of course her last go around with a guy had given her... Rape victim. She was not a fan of the title and just wished that she did not have to live with the stigma, let alone the memories of the experience, and to think he got away with it too! Plead out on assault charges, a minor fine and community service. Jeremy Ripley had gotten off easy, and Katherine was sick of it. Part of her wished that she had her pistol then, but no, no, that wouldn't have been right. Then you'd have been as bad as _him._

That was when she did the turnaround. No more demure, shy and quiet Katherine, no more cute act. No more damsel in distress as she had done before. She had worked on outgoing, she had worked on nice and cheerful, she had worked on being friends with just about everyone in school (or at least most of the beautiful people and a lesser portion of the lower castes, her sudden makeover had basically been an acceptance into high society) and everything was happy again. Besides seeing Jeremy still in school, there was nothing that could have taken Katherine down, but nothing.

Then there was prom...

* * *

It had sounded like a good enough idea at the time, going with a group of friends, Molly, Sandra, Jeanine, Hera, dressed in their best and to break some hearts, it was supposed to be great. Katherine even had the dress chosen out, a nice gown with a short slit up one leg, nothing slutty and actually rather classy. Katherine was always a fan of pink, it got her all giggly and happy just thinking about the color. Time getting her hair, makeup and nails done, getting the dress from the cleaners, it was a wonderful day. They even rented a limo to arrive in style and maybe even turn some heads. 

The hall itself that had been rented for the prom was even better, an old building from the forties, a classic Southern California cross between nightclub and hotel, and amazing acoustics. The school was cheap enough in that they wouldn't hire a band, but the DJ was great, even if he did have a thing for 80's music.

Then again, Katherine liked 80's music.

She had danced, she had partied, it had been a wild and great night. Then it came. She would refer to it as it because there is no way Jeremy could be a person. No, he was more a beast, a monster. He had come charging through the crowd and found his way to her on the dance floor. He had a wild look in his eyes and a frightening, almost bestial grin. Katherine could smell the alcohol on his breath from five feet away, and she knew what he wanted. And she was afraid.

So, like anyone with a brain, she ran. Where to, she didn't know, but anywhere but here sounded very nice at the time. She had pushed her way through the crowd, with the roaring beast that was Jeremy Ripley shortly behind her and no one seeming to either notice or care. She had made her way to a far wall when the heels she wore collapsed out from underneath her. She would be caught for sure, that much was a guarantee. She looked up pleadingly, around for anyone to help but they all seemed too interested in their night, their dancing, their sneaking the booze around. She was scared and near tears. She just looked around pleadingly to some of the loner types leaning against the wall and watching the action, and when one locked eyes with her she just mouthed, 'Help Me'.

As luck would have it, he was her hero.

Carter James, she recognized him instantly. Tall, slightly stocky guy wearing a surprisingly loud Hawaiian shirt at the prom. She had known him without really knowing him since about the third grade, and she had always known him to be a nice guy. He looked down to her, then up at Jeremy cutting his way through the crowd and knew what needed to be done. Carter had put out a hand and helped Katherine to her feet, and he led her down a nearby hall. The boy grabbed a doorknob experimentally, pulled it open and thrust both Katherine and himself inside it.

It was a broom closet, small and cramped, hardly larger than a phone booth, but Jeremy hadn't seen them. Katherine listened, hearing the echoes in the hallway of the booming music. "I Melt With You" had just started up, but not loud enough to block out the echoes of footsteps in the hallway. Jeremy had run down, she knew it, the same heavy footsteps and the same mutterings that she had heard earlier. She could see his silhouette underneath the doorframe. He rattled the doorknob, and although she couldn't see it, she could sense Carter holding the door handle tight. Evidently it was tight enough to make Jeremy think that the door was locked, and it had worked just fine.

He'd saved her...

* * *

That was the kind of hero that Katherine was looking for. Not some huge aggressive white knight, but a guy who would come up in a cab and get the job done. She wouldn't mind the opportunity to thank Carter again one of these days, but if she saw him right in the bunker just when the Battle Royale began, things weren't looking very good. He was the first one out, and although his name had not been announced, there was no guarantee that he was still alive. 

As it was, things weren't looking too good anyway. Four of her classmates had already been killed during the course of the "game" and many more were soon to follow. And then there was Michael...

She had run into Michael Baxter, a.k.a. Boy # 21 in the game's earliest minutes. He was a nice guy, very sweet, very frail, and very gay. He had been shivering down in a ball next to a tree, trying to hide in the dark. Normally he was all smiles and really obscure jokes, though most everyone tended to blame that on the fact that he was born Canadian and most everyone seemed to accept it. His sense of humor was messed up, meh, he's a Canadian so it's all right.

He was terrified when Katherine found him, shuddering like a small dog and not even putting up a fight as the girl aimed her gun to him. A look at the guy would tell anyone that a stiff wind could easily blow him down, where he himself was one to proudly admit that he had stick arms. Michael was never a fighter, and Katherine was a little miffed by it. She'd rather have a protector than have to be the protector, but with options limited as they were, she stuck with him. She really did like him, and between him and loneliness, she'd have preferred him. _Looking for a hero and you found yourself to be his, how's that working out?_

"I think I was made to be completely useless," Michael said out of nowhere, idly leafing through his pack.

"Why's that?" Katherine asked, oddly amused under the circumstances.

"Look at this," he said, holding open his backpack to show Katherine the contents inside, "I was meant to be a sitting duck. I got stick arms and they give me a megaphone? It's like, hey, come on down and shoot me in the head right now, fuck you very much and have a nice day! They want me to be a sitting duck."

"The weapons were given at random," Katherine pointed out, "they put our stuff in certain bags but I don't think we're any worse off than anyone else. Why else would they give a girl like me a gun?"

"Meh," Michael noted, "it's still a conspiracy."

"Sure Michael," she said with an exaggerated eye roll, "conspiracy, gotcha."

"So, what now?" he asked as he tore open an MRE packet and started to eat the food. It tasted nasty, but it was food. Damned dehydrated stuff, meat, fruit, veggies, bread, it all tastes the same when dehydrated: like cardboard.

"Survive," Katherine said, "there has to be a way to get out of this thing, if there's a way in, there's a way out. We need to figure out the weaknesses and intricacies of the system and we need to-"

"We don't know Jack!" Michael protested, "I mean, you're smart and I've gota bit of a brain when it comes down to it, but I don't think either of us is going to figure out the system."

"Then what do you suggest?" Katherine protested.

"I don't know about you," Michael said, "but if it were up to me I'd take your gun now and put a bullet through the back of my head."

He noticed the look of pure shock on her face and quickly added, "But since you're not going to give me your gun I'm fresh out of ideas."

"You're crazy," Katherine said, "It's far too early for us to just be up and ready to quit."

"Then do you have a suggestion?"

"No," Katherine admitted, "I don't, but I don't think tha-"

A crack among the trees behind them caught Katherine's attention, and she raised her gun up high, aiming it defensively to their unseen attackers.

"Hold your fire," a male voice said, "we don't want to be doing anything stupid so could you lower your gun?"

"Why should I?" Katherine asked, aiming her gun in the direction of the voice. As if in response, two figures appeared from the trees. The female was dark skinned, with bleached-blonde, spiked hair and holding a semi-automatic pistol aimed directly at Katherine. She wasn't all that together though, something was off, she seemed on edge and twitchy. The second form, the speaker as it were, was a male of seemingly small size holding a chainsaw defensively. Its blade and stock were dotted with bits of flesh, while both the boy and girl had been doused in dark red blood. The boy also wore a belt with six hand grenades strung across his chest adding that much more to his intimidation.

"Because we got you surrounded," Paul said with something of a wry smile, "we're not killing anyone here unless we have to. Right?"

Paul's words fell on almost deaf ears as the girls stared each other down. Neither woman let their hands waver, each keeping their gun trained on the other, while the two men just kept silent and watched. Eyes locked on eyes, they all watched each other in anticipation, wondering who would make the first move and what would come of it.

From out of nowhere Michael's cell phone rang, and instinctively one woman fired off a shot. Michael screamed.

* * *

Sky couldn't be dead; it just wasn't possible. Jenny Reese, a.k.a. Girl # 11, was in a daze. She had started the game off running, took to hiding, and was in a daze since the announcement. Sky... It couldn't be, they were just reading the names wrong. It had to be, that was the only explanation. She had just seen Sky the morning before at graduation. 

With fingers shaking rapidly, Jenny reached into her pocket and brought out a folded Polaroid picture. Graduation, it seemed so long ago. In the picture were smiling faces of a time gone by, Jenny standing alongside Lindsay, Anna, Naomi, Lenore (who thankfully was not involved in the Battle Royale) and Sky all dressed in their white graduation gowns, each proudly holding a diploma and looking like it was the greatest day in their life. They were close, probably closer than any of the other cliques in school. They were the Swim Six, having brought their school to championship in women's water polo on more than one occasion, and known for having the best slumber parties in town. Many a comparison went around school between them and the so-called Brat Pack, but any member would have been more than willing to admit that there was a big difference between cheerleaders and the real athletes. They worked hard, they didn't drink except for special occasions, and they didn't cruise the boys. Well, Lenore did, but that got her in trouble more often than not. _Frickin prom night girl, we all told you he was wrong for you but you didn't listen._

Well, Lindsay and Rudy from the school's football team were a hot item, but Jenny and Sky had always thought that they were a cute pair. Sure, he was "big and black" and Lindsay was everything but that, but the interracial pairing was never an issue to most besides their parents. Sure, Naomi was a bit jealous having always been attracted to Rudy, but that was to be expected. Lindsay and Rudy were very much in love.

And the thought made Jenny sick. Fifty go in, and only one comes out. Forty-four were left that she knew of, though on the occasion of hearing pops of gunfire around school, she had guessed that the number had probably decreased considerably. In the back part of her mind, she looked on in a disgusting manner, thinking that it was a good thing that her odds were increased with the fewer people.

She shuddered at the thought, and looking back to the picture of her and her friends from the swim team, she shuddered once more. Pocketing the picture, she tried to close her eyes and count to ten, hoping for lucidity. It didn't come.

She had been hoping for some comfort in a weapon, which of course as the rest of her luck had that day, it also didn't come. She had been provided with a deck of cards, hardly safety against the weapons and blades that everyone else undoubtedly had.

She sighed, breathing a bit more heavily in the humidity of the tropical island. She drank from a bottle of water, and in shock she tossed it away. She saw it, the tattoo. She didn't want to see it, but she had seen the tattoo. It was simple, just two symbols etched in thin black ink on the side of her right index finger, but it was more than enough.

S6. The Swim Six.

Stop it, just stop it! It's just a lousy tattoo, it doesn't mean anything! It's just a tattoo. You won't see your friends again, they're going to die and they're going to kill each other. Just like they wrote on the chalkboards before the "game" started, YOU WILL KILL YOUR BEST FRIENDS.

The Swim Six. At least Lenore had that hot date, lucky bitch... She better not be watching this go down.

A snap made her turn quickly. It's nothing, right? Just nothing, your nerves, look around and there's nothing there. Sure, there's people out there but you're hiding good, there can't be people there, right?

A large figure burst forth from the bushes and ran her way, a big and imposing shape who obviously had a hard time running. As he got closer, Jenny could see it to be none other than quite literally the school's biggest nerd AJ Takagaki, a.k.a. Boy # 5. He wore his backpack haphazardly, and in his hands he had a pair of earphones from a walkman, perhaps his randomly assigned weapon? Jenny mused at the thought for a fraction of a second, oddly preoccupied with the nature of the headphones instead of the fact that she was being approached by a huge man carrying a wire.

He came upon her like a freight train, body checking her and knocking her down before she had chance to respond. She hardly had time to scream, and no time to run. He soon sat on her stomach, forcing the air from her lungs as he tied the wire from the walkman headphones around her neck. Pulling at both ends, he strangled Jenny. She struggled, flopping beneath him like a dying fish and trying to pry at the wire around her neck with the one free hand she possessed. She was strong, but AJ was overweight and determined. She tried to gasp for air, but failed as he tightened the wire around her neck.

As her body was further deprived of oxygen, she struggled more yet with less conviction. AJ watched as the blood vessels burst in Jenny's eyes, getting a distinct bloodshot look. More vessels burst in her face, causing the left side to turn a distinct purplish color. It would be soon, very soon. He smiled almost, rubbing his forehead against one of his shoulders to push his glasses higher up his nose and to rub sweat from his brow. It had almost been too easy...

* * *

It was then that Boy # 22, Francisco Marquez, made his move. He had been walking along cautiously holding the ice pick he had acquired from Josh earlier and nursing his limp when he had heard the scream. A girl's brief and aborted scream. He ran at the sound, trying to do anything to find anyone with whom he could join up, since more than anything else Francisco needed a friend. 

Instead he found a crime that he perceived to be the worst of crimes that could be committed. He had seen abuse on women before, and it to him was a crime worse than murder. Every time his father had taken off his belt and beaten his mother mercilessly, Francisco cringed and prepared to strike, but he had never acted. Had he acted he'd have felt even worse wrath. They were all devout Catholics, but that of course meant nothing in terms of dysfunctionality. Alcoholics can't be saved, but their wives should be...

Seeing AJ on top of Jenny, he could see his mother's face. It was more than enough to push him over the edge and into action. He ran, much faster than AJ and much more comfortable with his bulk. He jumped on the Japanese boy, wrenching him from on top of Jenny and rolling him to the side. AJ tried standing up, at which point Francisco kicked him in his very wide stomach, knocking him back into a tree.

To AJ the next few hours of the Battle Royale would be held in darkness, as his head hit the tree, and he lost all consciousness along with the right lens from his glasses. Slumping down like a sack of potatoes, he was down for the count.

Francisco quickly turned his attention to Jenny, who lie on the ground and was coughing up mercilessly. She curled up in a ball at the base of a tree, cradling her head which felt like it would soon split open. She gasped desperately for air, coughing into her hands and not caring much for the little dots of blood that were showing very brightly on her pale skin.

"You all right?" Francisco asked with concern, kneeling down beside Jenny and giving her a handkerchief from his pocket.

She coughed sporadically into it, and she wanted to cry, looking at how much blood she was coughing up.

"I'm alive?" she asked with certain confusion.

"Yeah, you're alive," Francisco said as he tried to force a smile, "you're fine."

"How do I look?" Jenny asked near sobbing through bloodshot eyes and with half of her face a bright purple.

Francisco tried as best as he could to lighten the situation and probably failed miserably, "Like you wouldn't want to be looking into a mirror for some time."

At that, Jenny did burst into tears and Francisco collapsed inside. He never liked to see women cry, it brought back memories. Memories of those nights when dad would go out on a bender, load up on tequila and come home, beating his mother within an inch of her life. His father would back off or pass out, one way or the other, and his mother would always curl up into a ball crying her eyes out just like Jenny. Damn it Frank, you just can't win.

Like with his mother, all Francisco could do was sit down next to Jenny and hold her as she cried.

"What about, him?" she asked.

"I think good old AJ's down for the count," Francisco replied with something of a grin, though more than anything he was hoping that he was right, "We'll get out of here."

"We're not going to kill him?"

"He'll come around to that on his own," Francisco continued.

"Don't leave me, please," she pleaded between sobs.

Thinking of his own loneliness in the past hours, he just responded, "can't and won't. You got me as much as I got you, believe me there Jenn."

The two just stayed together at the base of the tree, holding onto each other. They listened to the wind in the trees, the bugs buzzing around them, and the occasional tree frog. It was peaceful, almost beautiful.

Then Jenny's cell phone rang, startling them both out of their silent stupor. They paused briefly, thinking that it could have been imagination.

It rang again. Her hands shaking, Jenny pulled the phone from her side pocket and looked at the screen.

"Who is it?" Francisco asked.

"Don't know," she responded with a sniffle, "they're texting me."

They both looked at the screen with great interest, reading as the letters scrolled up the face of the cellular phone.

MEET MESS HALL, WE R GETIN OUT -- ANNA


	14. Hour 9: 43 Contestants Remaining

Hour 9

43 Contestants Remaining

Mike Vriess, a.k.a. Boy # 13, considered the body that sat in the chair. He had been looking at it dumbfounded for five minutes. It was a body, and it was dead, and it was bloody. There was blood everywhere, all over the floors, the chair, the desk in front of him, the walls. He'd written things on the wall with his own blood. Creepy.

The corpse held in its hand an old-fashioned straight razor, and as best as Mike could tell, the fucker had slit his wrists and throat. It looked like he wanted to get the job done right and fast, though probably not all that pleasant. Blade looks rusty. DEFINITELY not pleasant.

It was Blake (that's his name, right?), that's the best Mike could tell. He wasn't someone who traveled in the greater circles among Braiwood High School, was one of those young revolutionary pussies and that's all Mike cared to know. Stupid fucker sliced himself open like a pig, gushed out all over the place.

Mike giggled.

"Hey, Mikey, where ya at?" a voice echoed from the hall.

"In here," Mike said with a smile, pulling the straight razor from the corpses hand.

Tall and rippling Karen Peterson, a.k.a. Girl # 10, entered the doorframe. Of all the members of the school's wrestling team, she was by far the most frightening to look at. She was an active steroids user, but most people were to scared to try and stop her. Besides, she shaved, and her sister was more than willing to help her when it came to donating urine samples, so no one was the wiser.

Karen was among the few who was seriously ready for the Battle Royale to begin. She was strong and she was a brutal fighter, and she knew how to make the most out of a shit situation. Her weapon for instance, her randomly assigned weapon was a picture frame. Just a simple eight by ten picture frame with a picture of a sickly old lady in it. She had broken out the metal edge of the frame and tied it to the end of a broomstick she found with a strip of cloth. In seconds, she had a formidable and deadly spear.

Considering the fact that she actively hated men and wasn't afraid to say it, it would have likely surprised most people who knew her to see that she was genuinely smiling at Mike's antics. She ambled on into the room, listening to the sound that the gravel on the floor made as his trademark black cowboy boots crunched over it.

"Look at me, it's Reservoir Dogs," Mike said, dancing around the corpse in the chair with the razor blade in hand.

"_I don't know why I came here tonight,"_ he crooned, _"I got the feelin' that something ain't right; I'm so scared until I fall out my chair, and I'm wonderin' how I get down them stairs..."_

He danced around the body, mimicking the scene from the movie he'd watched seemingly thousands of times perfectly. Karen was not the most hospitable when it came to socializing with men, at least on a level that brought her to smiles. Mike was the exception. He was kinda smart and still a badass, but carried with him an immaturity that made the best of even the worst shit situations.

He continued to dance, not noticing that their "fearless leader" Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23 was standing in the doorway behind Karen, and the look on his face was not one of happiness.

"_...Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, here I am, Stuck in the Middle With You."_

He ended up his quick little dance with bravado, quickly grabbing Blake by the ear and swinging the straight razor so as to sever the appendage. He held it up with pride, slightly confused that it wasn't bleeding.

"You done with your shit so we can get our asses in gear?" Joel asked threateningly, holding his weapon (a pump action shotgun, or as Mike called it, Really Fuckin Scary) at a ready and threatening angle.

Reacting much like he would have if caught by his parents with a nudie magazine, Mike tossed the ear to the side and pretended he was doing nothing.

"Yeah, I'm done," Mike said as he clammed up.

"Good," Joel muttered from behind his goatee, "stash that body then meet in the dining room, and don't try to fuckin run for it, buck shot runs faster than you can."

"No reason to run boss, I'm just playin here."

"Well no playin around then," Joel said quickly, "we're in the big leagues now. You play and you die, you get me?"

Joel pounded off down the hall after that without waiting for any semblance of a response and more than a little tense.

"What's up his ass?" Karen asked.

"Probably what should be up our asses," Mike added as he quickly folded the razor up and placed it in his boot, "Joel knows what he's talking about."

* * *

Joel on a normal day was a very frightening guy. He stuck a lot to his Italian roots, or so he'd say, by being as loud and as chauvinistic as he wanted to be and not letting anyone argue with him no matter what. It was an excuse more than anything else given that he was only half Italian, but Joel was willing to find any excuse to let him get away with what he wanted to get away with. He was a jackass all around, and the bad boy act (as well as a sizable wallet) definitely got him the women. If he wanted one, he could have her easily, well, so long as her IQ was below 90 and she had a great rack. Top all that off with the fact that he was also one of the physically strongest members of the graduating class 

His personality on any other day would be frightening enough, but ever since he had entered the Battle Royale they could all see it. He had gathered together the wrestlers, but they could all see it in his eyes. They were darker than before, somehow more hollow; more threatening. More frightening. The fact that one of the school's most dangerous students had started out with one of the deadliest weapons in the game was not overlooked by any, and they all feared it.

He had gathered together the members of the wrestling team early in the morning. Although Karen and Bo Adrian (Boy # 11) had already had the same idea, it was Joel who bound them together. He was already a leader in life of their little posse, more of a gang on some occasions. If you ever wanted a good group of thugs in school, you went to Joel, Karen, Big V (Mike), Bo and Shane Raynor (Boy # 16) (even though most of the time he didn't know that what he was doing was bad). And it was Joel who always led the charge.

Walking down the hallway, he had to grin. He had the most power in the game right now as far as things were concerned. Spas-12 pump action shotgun, second to none and capable of blowing a person in half at the right angle. The bandoleer of shells across his chest was reassuring, fifty shells, more than enough to take on the rest of the dumb fucks running around like ants. Place the barrel next to a person's head, point, click, and the head becomes a thick paste sprayed across the wall. Not too shabby for a days work.

As well he had gone through the others' packs, trying to keep the leverage. Mike had a bicycle chain, a solid weapon but shit when compared to firearms. Karen had her spear, good for her. Bo had what looked like a pistol at first, but when picked up proved to be a water pistol. Fuckin joke. Shane had a revolver, which did help, and which Joel currently had jammed down the front of his belt, his pocket overloaded with bullets pulled from a box.

And then there was CC. If there was a single chick on the planet more useless than CC over there, he didn't know her. Sure, she had great tits and was very, VERY talented with her mouth, but the rest of the time, she was dead weight. She always wanted to go shopping, she always wanted to get her hair and her nails done. She always made Joel pull over so she could run in "real quick" to buy something, only to come out like an hour later. Sure, he could knock her around and often did to keep her in line, but that only worked for so long. Long story short, she was useless.

The weapon that she had been randomly assigned is what Joel found himself rather fond of. Beretta 9mm, a police special almost. Capable of punching holes in solid rock, semi-automatic and with aim that was basically point and click. Joel smiled, that one came with a holster and belt for the clips. Passing by a dusty old mirror in one of the rooms, Joel had to smile. Bad to the bone baby.

Carrying his gang's three guns, Joel made his way to the dining room. They were in the old officer's quarters, or so was the best they could determine. It was designed like a house, with a few more personalized rooms, a kitchen, a dining room, an attic and a basement. It was a decent enough excuse for home for now and'd make an even better base compared to some of the more crap places. Better to think of it as a base than a home, yeah, right. Home was useless now. Home would never be seen by anyone again, that was for sure. Parents without children, brothers and sisters without siblings, for most of them there would be no homecoming, that much was certain. There's no morning after here, not unless you make it yourself.

But not Joel. He would be going home, and he was going to make sure of it. Cradling the shotgun in his hands, he felt its power and he knew it would make sure he got home. He would be making his morning after while the others just tuck their heads between their knees and die like the rest.

He could hear the voices of the others, his army to be as they whispered from the room. They were antsy, enthusiastic, and scared all that the same time. He would be making his own tomorrow...

...but not without a little help.

* * *

With time gone by and the fortification and cleanup work done and over with (they had pushed furniture in front of all the windows and cleaned up what they could of Blake's demise using an old blanket and tossing his body in a closet) Joel, Karen, Mike, Bo, Shane and CC gathered together in the dining room around the table. Karen had a pack of cigarettes and was passing them around with only Shane abstaining. She, Mike, and CC were nursing their smokes, while Joel had an unlit cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. Bo looked to light his but was fumbling with the lighter unsuccessfully. 

Mike sat on a chair backwards, his arms resting on the headrest while he rocked back and forth slowly, never once letting that confident grin of his disappear from his face.

"Good stuff," Mike intimated to Karen.

"Thanks," the big girl replied, "got them imported."

"Like I said, good stuff," Mike replied with an even wider grin. He looked up to their leader who stared the smaller wrestler down rather fiercely. Just don't mess with Joel, don't mess with him and everything will be all right, it'll be all right and everything will be OK.

"I'm only sayin this once because I don't gotta repeat myself and I don't want any of this first thing's fuckin last shit. I'm here, you're here, we're all here and we're all fucked in this Battle Royale," Joel pronounced.

Getting some nods and grunts from the group around, Joel let the smile cross his face that had won over more than a few women before and moved in for the kill.

"We're fucked, that is, if we don't stick together. There's safety in numbers my friends and if we stick together we can sweep across this motherfuckin island and take out everyone else, guaranteed. We're like a little hunting party, no, no, that's wrong, no, we ain't no motherfuckin hunting party. We're an army. We run through this thing with our guns blazin and we blow them all away, sound good to the rest of ya or can we get a move on?"

Ever the voice of reason, Bo raised his hand and asked the question on everyone's mind, "What happens at endgame?"

Letting the sly smile cross his face again, Joel looked back and quickly responded, "Endgame it's gonna be the bunch of us and a bunch of guns, we let things play out like they do and things'll go from there. We can be like the fuckin Wild Bunch then for all I care, but until then we all promise that we ain't gonna be poppin off caps at each other in the meantime?"

Seeing nods and other silent responses to the positive, Joel smiled. Now to gain their trust, make it easy so theys won't see it comin later on.

"Loyalty to the finals, we can turn this fuckin game on its end. Ain't no one else out there got a deal sweet as we do. No one I swear. You wanna walk away from this thing, fine with me but odds are you ain't gonna make it far or you're gonna find yourself in a danger zone. We gots each others backs just like anyone else here. Now who's got a fuckin light?"

"Heads up," Mike said, quickly tossing Joel a disposable Bic lighter. Joel caught it backhanded, quickly sparking it up and lighting the cigarette that hung from his lips. Just as quickly, he tossed the lighter back and brought his hand up to take a drag on the smoke. He quickly started coughing in a sputter, bending over.

"What the hell is this shit?"

"Wild 7 Cigarettes," Karen said, "they're Japanese, pretty good stuff."

Dropping the cigarette to the floor, he snuffed it out, "This stuff tastes like the inside of my ass."

"No it doesn't, this stuff's better" CC muttered, slightly amused but very monotone. Of the entire group, it was obvious that she had taken their entrance into the Battle Royale the hardest.

Bo and Mike were quick to giggle, while Shane (completely oblivious to the meaning of any of the conversation, long conversations were not Shane's strong suit, while nodding and trying to look like he was interested was) quickly followed suit. Joel shot out an angry glare, lifting the shotgun slightly so as to get silence. It worked.

"You get some cigarettes next time make sure it's American, this foreign shit is just that: shit. You get Red Apple, or in a pinch Camel's, none of that Asian shit."

"Don't camel's live in the desert?" Shane asked with a smile of pride on his face.

"Yeah they do," Joel mentioned, trying to be a bit patient with Shane but already realizing that it wouldn't be happening, "don't matter now though 'cause we ain't in no desert and it don't matter since there's no camels here. Now let's get this move on while the daylight ain't wasting and we can still get in some bodies. We're the wrestlers, they ain't. We're varsity, they ain't. WE ARE HERE AND WE ARE GONNA GET THIS ON!"

He was mimicking their coach, but the words got the other four wrestlers going, moving around, cheering, war whooping and pounding on the table. CC was the only one who sat back quietly, if just because she was not in on the culture. It was bad enough hanging out with the group when lives weren't on the line, but this...

She sighed.

* * *

So it was settled, the Officer's Quarters would be their headquarters. As it was designed, they would always keep two people back at base to keep things set and safe, to make sure no one else tried to take over the property they had claimed as their own. They would switch off on their hunting missions, keeping enough time for breaks and time to make sure everyone got some action. It would be perfect. 

Well, perfect for everyone but CC. She wanted to be with Joel and she wanted to be with him bad. Being cooped up in the building with Bo and a revolver (begrudgingly handed over by Joel) was not exactly her idea of a good time.

It was true that he beat her up sometimes, and it was true that she let him. She was powerless really, but the facts seemed very simple: he was cute, he had a lot of money, and he always said that he loved her, it was the trifecta that always opened CC's heart and legs. Before he had set out on the hunting mission with the others, Joel had embraced her tenderly and kissed her gently, whispering sweet nothings in her ear about how they were going to be together forever and that everything was going to be all right. Hearing things like that would always send her heart aflutter, and she smiled.

Everything was going to be all right after all.

As they parted Joel turned around and smiled the smile that he would smile when he would try and convince a judge. Telling CC what she wanted to hear was a task that was too easy to believe, it would make things easy come game time. She wouldn't even know what hit her.

THAT thought made Joel really smile.

"All right ramblers," Joel said as he slung up the shotgun into his hands, pumping the slide with a satisfying CA-CHUNK, "let's get rambling."


	15. Hour 10: 43 Contestants Remaining

Hour 10

43 Contestants Remaining

Geiger Anton, a.k.a. Boy # 19 was dying. It was rare in the world when he would be very certain about anything, but the circumstances this time he knew were completely different. His hands covered the bloodied mess that was once his stomach, now an empty mess that seemed to resemble a garbage bin from a sausage factory. He'd pulled most of it back in, but the blood that was all over the place was a bit disconcerting. His missing eye and the portion of his hand that had disappeared weren't good signs either, but he knew it would be over soon, so it really wasn't that bad.

It just hurt like hell, that was the only problem. It was damn near blinding (then again that might also be the missing eye), but it was numbing too. Geiger knew a sense of euphoria that definitely signified one of the later stages of shock, not that he really knew what that meant.

He couldn't believe his stupidity, how it happened. Just stupid, dumb dumb dumb, stupid. I mean, God, what the hell were you thinking?

God it hurt. He coughed up a good amount of blood and settled into leaning against the tree, breathing shallowly and waiting for death to come. He tried to think of good things, mom, dad, his little sister. Little Julie, barely seven years old and only seeing the beginning of this messed up world. Wonderful timing, wonderful timing, couldn't have been born in a different world on a different time when this wouldn't be a problem?

Thinking about them made him want to cry, and for all he knew he probably would. Well, he knew he definitely would, but the when was the big part. The pain made him hope for sooner rather than later, but God only knew when that would be. He didn't want to cry, he didn't like to cry, but like anyone without any other choice, he did anyway.

He was going to die, and he didn't get to say goodbye. He just ran off from his family after graduation to party it out with some of the guys before the game, no chance to hug them, no way to say you loved them. No telling Julie not to do anything... well, anything this stupid. It was all stupidity, through and through. One simple mistake killed him. One simple word killed him. Trust... Never trust, especially women, especially the cute ones, and especially the ones who didn't look dangerous. They're the worst.

* * *

Geiger had been on top of the world upon entering the Battle Royale (well, as on top of the world as someone could be under the circumstances), and by all rights he should have been. He easily had the best gun in the game, a Russian AK-47, by far the most common rifle on the planet with full auto-fire capability and enough ammunition to kill everyone in the game three times over. He didn't have much experience with guns (despite being from a semi-redneck family), but considering the fact that the gun was designed for use by complete imbeciles it was perfect for him. It was a good weapon that would definitely keep back most of the others, if just by sound alone. 

As things were, Geiger was not a very violent person, but when push came to shove he was more than willing to get the job done. He'd been in a couple fights before, won a couple even, but more often than not chose the path of least resistance to get out of things. This gun, this magical high powered weapon would be that path. It was perfect.

Geiger was proud that he had come up with a plan, and a damn good one at that. It had taken time to formulate of course, the insanity of the game's opening hours putting the boy into shock for quite a while. Hearing gunfire on the other side of the island in sporadic thundercracks brought him back into reality, which is when the plan came through.

It was foolproof, guaranteed to get him to the end and it seemed insanely simple. Honestly, he was surprised that it took him that long to think up.

The plan as it was involved doubling back near the bunker where the game started out. He had checked the map that was dangling on the chain around his neck and found the ideal hideaway. There was a shed near the bunker, small and constructed of cinder blocks. He had run by it earlier, no windows, one door of small and solid construction (or at least it looked that way, it was made of thick albeit rusted metal, which was more than Geiger needed for comfort). All he had to do was hide out in the shed for the course of the game, then wait for the people to start congregating at the bunker towards the end of the game and bam, wipe out the rest of them. The fringe benefits of full-auto fire. It still was mass murder, but taking out a small group of people all in one place seemed to make things easier. If anyone else tried to get into his shed, a burst to the chest or the face would get the job done. Or who knows, maybe they'll all kill each other and make the job easy, just walk on out.

Walk on out...

It would be easy then. His family wouldn't be ashamed of him simply hiding out during the course of the game, if anything they'd be grateful and proud of his course of action. No degeneration, no savagery, no delighting in killing his friends and people he'd known for years. Just doing the job that needed to be done.

The plan was perfect, too perfect it seemed, and Geiger was rightfully cocky. Odds were in favor of the plan working too, he did have the most powerful weapon in the game and he was a strong guy with a strong will to survive. The shed was strong and in a prime location.

Odds didn't expect Girl # 2.

As Geiger wandered through the forest in search of the shed that he had been looking for, cradling the automatic rifle in both hands and the sling over his shoulder. It was then that he heard the sound. It was a simple, unmistakable sound. Crying. A girl crying. Geiger was hesitant as he had been since the moment he stepped into the game, but the philanthropist in him couldn't help but be intrigued. He was never really popular with the girls, but he always felt mildly protective of them.

He walked among the trees and looked down to see the source of the sound. She seemed almost too tiny to be alive, not even clearing four and a half feet tall and balling herself up against a tree. Geiger looked to the girl and saw her features, small and delicate face with long and flowing red hair (currently in two long pigtails that nestled against her fairly flat chest) and thin arms and hands that seemed to be no bigger than silver dollars. She was crying, her tears dripping down her face and staining her pink cheeks.

Long story short, Katie Snyder was a pitiful sight to be seen. She wept, seemingly oblivious to Geiger's existence, and when she looked up, she wailed even more. Geiger stepped back, wondering what was the problem, and then saw it. He still held the rifle in hand, finger on the trigger. He could end it all right now and he knew it, pull the trigger and blow a few holes through Katie's demure chest, but he just couldn't do it. There was just something about her that seemed so pitiful, so helpless, that killing her would just be... wrong.

"Hey, are you ok?" he asked.

She continued to cry and backed herself up against the tree, seemingly trying to run away in a place where there was nowhere to run away to. For some reason, Geiger was compelled to stay with the girl and slung the AK-47 over his shoulder. Normally good judgment would have told him to stay away, but good judgment wasn't one of his finer points.

"Sorry, that's my gun, they gave it to me in the start, it's not scary, really" Geiger said and smacking himself in the forehead for his choice of words. Stupid, very smooth Geiger, just like always.

"Look, I know a good place to hide, if you want," Geiger continued, getting a weird look from the girl who looked up at him.

"It's really secure, I'm sure of it. You look scared and I think it might be good for you. I've got a gun and can protect you if you want too."

She still didn't respond, and Geiger looked at her with an even stranger gaze. She's probably in shock, terrified all to hell of you Geiger. Hell, you came in here scared like she was and you're a man; a girl would be in this thing horribly. You come up with an AK-47 and expect her to keep acting normal, what's wrong with you?

"I'd really like to protect you if you'd let me. I promise I won't let anyone hurt you."

And he wasn't going to either, at least not until the end. But then he'd make sure it wasn't hurt, just one shot to the back of the head. Quick shot, blow out most of her face but take away any semblance of pain. He'd make it as peaceful as possible. At least, that was the thought. Who knows, she's pretty cute, you may not even be able to do that when it comes down to it. I mean, Jesus Christ this is the girl from the library, she checked out books to everyone and you're thinking about killing her? This is messed up man.

"You promise?" she finally responded in a frightened voice, but letting an odd smile cross her face. Geiger was just hoping to get a smile of any sort from her, so this made him smile. Her smile did frighten him a bit though. It showed off too many teeth and its edges were less than genuine, but it was a smile and it was a definite change from her previous appearance.

"I promise," he said with a genuine smile and holding out his hand to her.

"I like your gun," she said oddly, holding out a hand of her own.

What happened in the next six seconds would haunt Geiger for the rest of his very short life, and make many of his driving thoughts focused on why he should have just pumped twelve or fifteen shots into her and made sure she was dead by kicking her repeatedly in the face and emptying the clip into her head. He never had the chance.

She lashed out quickly, swinging her weapon that appeared to be a black stick of sorts (actually a short scythe, a three foot staff with a two foot long curved blade for harvesting wheat). With a flash of silver, Geiger stepped back. There seemed to be a fire in his hand and his face that he couldn't quite explain. His vision disappeared on the right side and he had a vague understanding that something wasn't right. He looked at his hand (with that odd taint of red all over) and saw it. Besides the thumb, the rest of his right hand had been cut clean through. Running his good hand over his face, he could feel that the slash went deeper, cutting open the skin of his cheek and revealing his teeth. Running his fingers up higher, he searched for his eye, and, oh god, no, it can't be! A slippery marble-like fluid was in his hand as he went over the vacant cavern that was his right eye socket. Stumbling back, he saw Katie holding the scythe and walking towards him with her bloodied tool with a bright smile on her face and red over her hands.

He tried to sling the rifle free, but with the fire in his hand and the blood that was gushing all over the place, he could hardly move coherently. She swung the weapon once more, impaling the tip of the blade through Geiger's breastbone. She groaned, cooing as she jammed the weapon further, moaning loudly as blood sprayed from his chest and as the boy tried to cry out in pain. Using both hands, she pushed the blade through Geiger's ribcage and pushed down, opening his stomach cavity and spilling his innards. He screamed with blood flowing from his mouth, falling to the ground and against the tree. Calmly, Katie wiped the blood from her hands on a tree, carrying off her scythe, Geiger's AK-47 and both of their packs.

And, well, that's what brought Geiger to his current condition. He cursed himself, alternately wanting to cry and seriously missing his family. It was a stupid mistake.

With the last breath that he could really manage, Geiger sputtered loudly while coughing on his own blood, "Mom, Dad, Julie, I'm sorry."

With a further inspiration he giggled, finding the irony in what he was about to say.

"Live long and prosper."

With that, he collapsed further against the tree, wheezing on his own blood. He pulled his wallet free from his back pocket, flipping through the papers to find what mattered. Happier times, mom, dad, himself and his little sister Julie at the NASCAR race. They were all smiling, laughing, all wearing their car racing caps and sunglasses. They saw some good crashes that day, it was great. He ate so much he almost puked. Memories.

He folded the picture in half and put it in his mouth, biting down hard as life began to finally leave his body.

One hundred and fourteen seconds later, Geiger Anton, a.k.a. Boy # 19, died of blood loss and massive organ failure. He still kept his family close.


	16. Hour 11: 42 Contestants Remaining

Hour 11

42 Contestants Remaining

Katie Snyder, a.k.a. Girl # 2 was rather satisfied with herself. At first she thought raining down holy fire would be a difficult task, but in all actuality, it was rather quite easy. And as it turned out, it was actually quite a lot of fun.

She had walked into the game from its earliest moments a bit frightened, but nowhere near as frightened as she had expected to be or likely should have been. The realization that the righteous would prevail, and that she was perhaps the only one of the entire class with any semblance of righteousness, she had felt satisfied inside. All fear had disappeared, and her smile widened.

And then she checked her pack, the pack she had neglected for so long. It had seemed like she was carrying around the wretched thing for days, even though it had only been a matter of a couple hours. Inside there were her meager supplies. Six MRE's, government supplied food to the military forces, cheap stuff that tasted like cardboard dried out for about a month. Bottles of water, not a lot, but if rationed out would work for the duration. Dehydration wouldn't be an issue, then again, can't the human body go up to four days without water? Dehydration would never be an issue. She snickered slightly as she thought about it, but then again, she did a lot of thinking.

As it was, not one person at Braiwood High School could ever recall hearing Katie's voice at any octave higher than a whisper. For almost the entire duration of her life, she was mousy in appearance and in spirit (at least outwardly so), and she had gone on ignored. She had been raised on the Holy Bible and believing in the power of God above all else, though sometimes God needed instruments to do thy bidding, and, well, Katie had always been studying up for the day when she would be one of those instruments.

The Bible had been a good guide to start things out, but being an instrument of the lord would involve more than just his teachings. She needed the trades of the land, knowledge in all fields and whatever skills she could manage. So she read. She spent every spare hour of every day reading books from the library. Fiction, non-fiction, reference, textbooks, old issues of National Geographic, Soldier of Fortune or MAD Magazine, anything she could get her hands on she could read. From the age of eight up she would average a book a day, sometimes two or three depending on the rate. By eighteen she had read more than two-thousand books, mostly non-fiction, all informative. When she had problems in computer class, she spent one week reading books on software and hardware maintenance and soon had a knowledge of computers that beat out almost any other kid on campus. She grew her own vegetables, made much of her own clothing, and made a killing (pun thoroughly intended) selling self-made religious icons online. It was amazing how many crosses one could make out of scavenged pieces of metal from a car...

Firearms training. Through reading old reference books on military weapons and tactics and hunting, she had a thorough knowledge of most civilian and otherwise weapons. She could fieldstrip everything from a pistol to a LAW (Light Anti-Tank Weapon) in her sleep, pretty impressive considering the fact that she had never seen or touched one in her life.

It was a good and pleasant life. She was studied up for anything that God had wished she do. If she was to farm, she would farm. If she was to teach, she would teach. If she was to be a photographer, she would be a photographer. All she needed was a sign...

If she was to smite the unfaithful, she'd smite the unfaithful.

"Thy will be done," she said with an evil grin after her earliest moments in the game. He had given her purpose, and she was not one to disappoint.

She had gone through the rest of her pack, pulling out the flashlight, compass, and the plastic pouch on a chain that held the map of the island. Unzipping the pouch, she found a small pen and flipped her map to reveal the list of all the other classmates. Good times indeed, she thought with another smile.

And then there was her holy fire. The holy fire was what she had been given by God to take out all those who opposed His will and those who would get in her way. At the start, it looked like a simple black staff of three feet in length and a curving protrusion covered in black leather that also extended for another two feet pointing at a right angle from the staff.

Pulling the leather sheath back, she could feel the power, a power that she had never felt before and was sure she was destined for. The blade was a thing of beauty, bright and silvery and deadly sharp. If god himself were to touch the blade, he would be cut, and Katie marveled at the power. She rolled the staff around in her hand, gauging the weight and gravity of the bladed weapon. She touched the blade with one finger. Definitely deadly sharp, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Pressing her finger harder against it, she drew blood, and from the pain, pleasure. She closed her eyes and moaned, feeling the pleasure radiate through her finger, up her arm and down her spine to her loins. It felt so good that it must be sinful, but she didn't care. Thy will be done.

It was easy really, and she had been proud to be one of the few to draw blood early in the game. She had seen Geiger running around, and she knew he was a nice guy. He was always friendly, always carrying a nice smile around with him, even if he was a bit of a jerk sometimes. It was too easy, the nice guy act just wouldn't hold up in a situation such as this. All she needed to do was fake some tears, throw in a sob or two, and God would take care of the rest. She had torn off his hand and disfigured his face in one fell swoop, an action which sent such pleasure through her body that she had never felt before. It was carnal, it was dirty, and it felt oh so good. Thrusting the blade into his chest, she cried out with even more pleasure, her body shaking with the immensity of the action. She tore through his chest and stomach with strength she never knew she had, all the while shaking in rapture and pleasure. Being a virgin, she mused as she pulled the blade down his stomach and spilled his intestines, so THIS is what an orgasm feels like. It's positively sinful and oh so nice.

It took her a moment of afterglow to realize that she was still in the game and that she would stand a better chance of survival if she didn't stay where she was. She took a moment to regain her bounds, taking up her weapon, the two packs and Geiger's weapon. It took her a moment of wandering about to find a safe place in a small grove of orange trees for her to slow down.

She pulled down some of the fruit and ate away, loving the taste like she had never loved anything before. She pulled down several more and placed them in her backpack. Following that, she went through Geiger's belongings. Finally out of the kill induced pleasure daze, she looked to his rifle. She squealed out with glee, almost thinking it to be too good to be true.

AK-47, by far the most common rifle on the planet and one of the most efficient. Fewer moving parts than the M-16 more than made up for its lacking clip size and caliber, as it was small, efficient, and light. High powered too, don't forget high powered. Fully automatic, burst or single shot, she could let loose with whatever kind of holy fire would do her justice, but for the moment, fully automatic sounded real nice.

She counted her clips, four, five, six, seven. Seven clips. Thirty rounds each with seven clips. 210 shots total. Nice, very nice. It may not be the best given that fully automatic would be the best way to make it through most fights, but if she won the best kill for a six hour period, they would provide ammunition, right? That's what that insipid video said, so it must be true.

That left only one task be done before she finally got going. Her clothes. Her conservative-looking clothes had been soaked in blood and bits of Geiger. Murder was such messy work, why did the human body have to have such brightly colored fluids? Then again, it's not that she minded the color so much (given that bathing in the blood of the enemy was a common procedure of many a primitive warrior she didn't mind the practice), but the smell. Already the blood had a strong copper odor, but combined with the septic odor that had been released when she spilled his bowels and the fact that the island would soon reach its peak heat, she knew something had to be done.

Reaching around her neck, Katie pulled off her stained sweater and threw it to the side. She muttered to herself as she saw her blouse too had been soaked through. No, no, that would not do. Taking it, she tossed it to the side and left it in the pile. Her tank top was still reasonably clean, with a mild spattering of pink across the stomach, but it would do quite nicely. Her skirt too was an issue. It was denim, perhaps the one fashionable thing that she wore, but it extended down to her calves and inhibited her walking ability. Some work with the scythe made short work of the majority of the skirt, leaving enough to keep her modest (unless she sat down or spread her legs for some reason) and give her mobility.

If there was a boy around, she was sure he'd be gawking at her in her short skirt and tight tank top. He'd be thinking with the wrong brain and probably wouldn't attack her if she made a move against him. It was perfect, simply perfect.

Pulling up one strip of denim, she tied it around her forehead, keeping her bangs up and out of her eyes and holding up her two pigtails against the back of her head so she wouldn't need worrying about them getting caught.

Looking down, she saw Jack and smiled. Jack...

It was written in small block letters of black color right above her belly button. She normally loathed tattoos and piercing's of all sorts, but for Jack she was willing to make an exception.

Jack from Lord of the Flies. Jack, the one who had a true understanding of how things need be done. Not by order, not by time-consuming and overall pointless civility, but by force.

"We're strong--we hunt! If there's a beast, we'll hunt it down! We'll close in and beat and beat and beat!" he had said in the story, and the words repeated themselves over and over in her head. Words to live by, not to die by. Words to survive by...

She smiled her evil smile, hefting her pack, newly filled with Geiger's water, food and ammunition. She sheathed the scythe, using another long strip of denim in a crude sling to hold it over her shoulder. In her hands she carried Geiger's rifle set to fully automatic. A one-woman army, she was ready and prepared to purge the elements that God had asked her to.

Thy will be done.

* * *

Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15, awoke with a start. Dreams were bad. Death, destruction, mutilation. He had spent his earlier hours in the game wandering around aimlessly, trying not to die and looking for someone he could trust. Trust would be a tough thing to come by under the circumstances, but he was willing to take what he could get. He had run across three bodies already, and three bodies was more than he was ever expecting to see in life. 

Earlier, as he was running through the lines upon lines of barracks that made up much of the islands center, he had seen a large and bright red smear of red against one wall. Curiosity getting the better of him, he ambled on over to see what it was. He was reasonably armed, or so he liked to think (his randomly assigned weapon had been a small bungee cord, the kind used to secure items to the back of a pickup truck, useless, but when wrapped around the rear axle of his skateboard it made a formidable mace of sorts). Walking on over with his bungee-skateboard swinging in his hands, he was shocked with the gore. He remembered the names called out over the loudspeakers, and they were the only things that helped him identify the two bodies. Otherwise they'd have been completely indiscernible.

The first had been female at one time or another, but had one arm nearly severed while the rest of her body was full of gaping, bloody holes. Adding insult to injury, her face had been crushed inward, cheek bones and forehead shattered while one eye was wide open and bulging from the socket.

The second body was no better off, actually being more like two halves of a body than a body. It was sliced raggedly at an angle, it's blood obviously sprayed about in a fountain of gore, it's insides out all over the place. Matt was taken aback, speechless, and he just took off running in the opposite direction. Messed up man, this is all just messed up, get over it and just get out of here.

He ran through the jungle aimlessly, making far too much noise to be safe. He didn't care. All he wanted to do was get away from the bulging eye that was staring out into his soul. The Evil Eye as they always called it. It sent chills down his spine.

Running through the forest, he reached a tiny clearing in enough time to trip over what felt like a clump of roots. The world was turned sideways and the wind left his lungs quickly. Stupid, stupid.

Rolling over, he looked to his feet and was appalled at the sight. At one time it had been Peter Larkin, but now it was misshapen and broken. Already the flies were beginning to swarm, and soon they would be feasting. Gagging, Matt had tried to stand but found he couldn't. He could on the other hand vomit quite well, and that he did in great quantity.

Now if there was one thing in the world that truly disgusted Matt, it was vomit, and seeing and smelling his own, wiping the bile from the edges of his mouth, it was too much. He couldn't handle it, not anymore. He forced his feet to move and kept on running.

The trees had scared Matt. He was a city kid through and through, never once having gone to the country before in his life. True, there were skyscrapers that towered over even the greatest of trees over in Los Angeles, but there was something about the trees being alive... It was like they were living, breathing towers watching over benevolently and offering protection when they could.

Then again, Matt also remembered reading a statistic that claimed that more people were killed annually by trees or things falling off trees than snake bites, spider bites and shark attacks combined. Any comfort level the trees offered immediately left. Panicked and lonely, he ran.

He ran until he could see another building, and immediately he had the urge to run in the opposite direction. Everyone would be hiding out in the buildings, if he ran in there, what were the odds that he would find someone else who was really playing the game and playing it hard? He figured the odds were very high that if he found someone who was playing the game that they would be hiding out in such a building, it just screamed out, "HIDE IN ME!"

Matt shuddered at the thought and had prepared to move on, and by all rights he should have. It was then that he heard a voice, "Hey Matt, up here!"

That was how Matt Hunter met up with Jackson Brent, a.k.a. Boy # 7 and Eliza Mann, a.k.a. Girl # 19.

* * *

Surveying the room around him, Matt leaned up from the old cot and stood, stretching his aching bones. It wasn't the most comfortable of places to be sleeping, the cot easily forty years old (if not more), but it worked well enough to get him some sleep. 

He laughed as he realized what a luxury it was. Sleep. There were bound to be other folks around who were less than fortunate in the Battle Royale and would go the whole game (or at least their limited existence) without sleep of any sort.

Jackson and Eliza sure knew how to pick them, that was a good thing as far as Matt was concerned.

Jackson and Eliza had met up early in the game as they had planned to in the moments before the game started and had run off soon after. The plan initially was, like the plan of many, to find a safe haven, fortify it and hide away for the remainder of the game and wait until they all died. They were both very much in love and couldn't kill each other (nor would they want anyone else to be killing them) so the hideaway idea seemed rather appropriate. It had been simple luck that found them the base's brig, a small military prison for them to hold the rowdier element in their time. It was a small, two-story building, whose bottom floor consisted of an office and entry room and beyond it several holding cells. A barred gate divided the cells from the office, and with the office being the only way into the building, the barred gate offered quite a bit of protection.

The second floor was a living quarters for the MP's, with two rooms with windows and a couple closets with four cots and other assorted pieces of furniture between them. Jackson and Eliza occupied one room, while Matt slept in another.

As much of a stoner as Jackson may have been, he was paranoid enough to not believe that barred gate would be enough, so a lot of extra planning had been done. He had removed all the wooden slats that made up the staircase to the second floor, making access next to impossible. As well, he had taken to gathering up the dozens of old beer bottles that they had found within the brig (there was a large stash of them within one closet for some strange reason) and filling them with an old gas can found in the back of the building. Add a few strips of cloth, and they had almost twenty Molotov cocktails. Always carrying a Zippo lighter, Jackson knew that anyone who tried to get near the building would soon regret it, lest they be covered from head to toe in third degree burns.

Add to that Jackson's sledgehammer and Eliza's pistol, and Matt could only marvel at how safe they seemed to be. He had an open invitation to stay with the couple, spend his last hours waiting for death and smoke weed with them, but he couldn't do it. Matt hadn't told them that he wouldn't be staying, not yet at least. He would be heading out soon, rested and ready, going on something of a quest as he liked to think of it.

And like many a quest, it was about a girl...

* * *

Matt walked into the other room on the second floor, smelling a smell he never thought he'd know again and being intoxicated by it. 

"That coffee?" he asked.

"Nothing but the best," Eliza said with a cheery smile, "I always keep a thermos for one of those 'just in case' situations. I guess this counts as a just in case, don't you?"

Jackson soon quickly interjected, saying, "Don't respond to it, she's off her meds and if you go into it and none of us will ever hear the end of it."

Eliza playfully punched her boyfriend in the shoulder, and he just stuck his tongue out at her playfully.

If one were to look at Jackson Brent and Eliza Mann from a distance, they would probably seem to be as odd a couple as could be. Jackson was tall and lanky, always wearing the same knit cap from which his scraggly and oily brown hair would fall out and cover his eyes. He almost always wore sunglasses, covering up the bloodshot eyes look that came along with his chosen lifestyle of the stoner. He almost always wore black and loved wearing shirts for 60's hard rock bands.

Eliza on the other hand was short, stout and maybe a little overweight. She wasn't as habitual a marijuana user as her boyfriend, but she always carried the same kind smile and giggly nature. Her ADD aside, she was quite intelligent, her glasses giving her even more of a smart look. She prided herself in being different, and not just one of the "rebel's" who rebelled because all their friends did, she just chose to be different. Her style may be weird, but she did know all the best places to find the best deals on clothing, used or otherwise, and she had her money saved well for a future in fashion, or so she hoped.

They were very much in love, already playing around like a married couple, and Matt couldn't help but smile and feel a bit sad at the same time. Within sixty hours, give or take, they would be dead, killed by their classmates or from the belts that would rip them in half once the game wound down.

Instead, Matt chose to focus on the present, watching them sit around the wood stove as they heated up a thermos of coffee, while Jackson was tearing at the foil packed MRE and failing miserably. Eliza tested the thermos with her hand, then passing it over to Matt. He took a sip, loving the warmth and the bitterness. Putting it down on a table, he stepped away.

"Look guys, I gotta thank you for letting me sleep here, but I really should be going," Matt said, "it's light now and I really want to find her as soon as I get the chance."

"I really wish you'd reconsider," Eliza said, genuinely concerned, "if you go out there... There's a lot of dangerous people out there, you saw the bodies. Seriously, don't do it, please."

"Believe me, I don't want to die," Matt responded, "but I've had feelings for the longest time for her, I have to tell her how I feel before anything happens to her. She may not even like me or know me but I gotta tell her. I'm sorry, but it's something that I have to do."

Saddling up his pack and wrapping the bungee cord from his jury-rigged weapon around his hand, Matt stood up and prepared to go.

"Hospitalities great guys, you take care of yourselves, you hear?" Matt asked.

"No prob Matteo," Jackson responded, "you find your girlie, bring her back here, give a holler and we'll let you in, no sweat. Is that board all you got?"

"My board, this cord, and my pack, why?"

"If you're going to be running around, no way I can send you out empty handed," Jackson said with a toothy smile, charitable as ever, "send you out armed and ready to go."

Jackson went over to their supply of Molotov cocktails and brought two over to Matt. Jamming their tops shut with corks, he pushed them into Matt's pack. Eliza too came over, handing Matt her Walther PPK pistol and the four clips of ammunition that came along with it.

"I hate guns," Eliza said with a smile, "and Jackson's never in any shape to be using a gun."

"You sure about this?" Matt asked.

As Eliza looked over to Jackson, currently staring at the wall and giggling after having lit up another joint, she smiled.

"Positive."

Matt looked at the gun, chambering a round and looked on with satisfaction. Nice gun, semi-automatic, James Bond's gun if I'm not mistaken, he thought. He took the shoulder holster that came along with the gun and belted it around his chest, cramming the clips of ammunition in his pocket. Eliza, already feeling as if Matt was lost, hugged her friend.

"You find her and you get back here and be safe, ok?" Eliza asked.

"I promise," Matt responded, parting the hug and moving over to Jackson.

"You take care of Eliza, ok?" Matt asked with his wide smile, getting Jackson to smile back.

"No prob dude," Jackson responded, shaking Matt's hand playfully and pulling him into a hug. He then whispered into Matt's ear, "this is for if things turn to shit."

As they parted, Matt looked to his hand. Jackson had given him three joints, and having sampled Jackson's wares before, he knew it was quality stuff. Free drugs from Jackson was a rarity, and it meant a lot for their friendship. He put them in one of his jacket pockets, and then looked to his two friends.

"You guys have been great to me," Matt said, "you're my best buds, and you know that I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of this time with y'all, but I think I'm in love, but I really gotta find out. You know that's a big thing for me."

Jackson and Eliza both nodded, at which point Matt turned his back, bowed dramatically and went to the disassembled stairwell. It took some stepping on uncertain beams and he very nearly fell and broke his neck, but he made his way to the ground floor, squeezed his way through a rusted set of bars (he thanked god he was a vegetarian) and disappeared from Jackson and Eliza's view.

They stood staring at the stairwell for a few minutes, looking down to their friend. The three of them had been as tight as they came, three social outcasts, the skater, the stoner and the artist, best friends since the early days and best friends to the very end.

"He's not coming back, is he?" Eliza asked.

"Nope," Jackson replied deadpan.

"I hope he goes quickly," Eliza said, resigned to their friends fate.

"I just hope Lexie really means that much to him," Jackson replied. He made his way back to the table, upset over the course of actions and really needing to light a toke. Taking the marijuana cigarette into his mouth, he lit it up on their stove, coughing briefly in the acrid smoke. Soon he didn't care, and all was well with the world once more.


	17. Hour 12: 42 Contestants Remaining

Hour 12

42 Contestants Remaining

As they would for every six hours until the end, the speakers around the island creaked and squealed, segueing into the voice of none other than the Battle Royale DJ, J.J. Squalls himself.

"Good afternoon Battle Royalers, J.J. Squalls your eyes in the sky keeping you updated with the carnage you may or may not have missed in these last six hours. Then again, since only two people have died since then I must admit that we're all very disappointed in you kids, seriously, don't you guys go to a public school? Don't they teach firearms proficiency and shiv making in school these days? Come on, don't be pussies, let's rack up some bodies! Oh well, no bother. Sixty hours to go, you still have plenty of time to blast and tear each other all to hell. Anyway let's drop the linen and start the grinnin', it's time to list out your classmates in the order that they died! Since we've only got two, this won't take long, but hey, I'll do what I can because you all know you want to hear my voice and they pay me well. Anywho, first off Boy # 3, Blake Morrow took the losers way out and slit his throat and wrists, and Boy # 19, Geiger Anton, sliced, diced and split from sternum to groin by our little Katie Snyder. Katie, the viewers have spoken and you're the winner of the death of the period! Head on over to the radio tower, it is temporarily not a danger zone to pick up your prize. Now, before I head out, a word from the big wigs. Killing yourself accomplishes nothing, you may think you're taking the moral high ground by suicide, but you're not. It dishonors you and your family and will bring you no fame whatsoever. Life is a game, fight for survival and see if you're worth it. So, on that happy note, have a nice day everyone, and I'll leave you with some music to kill by!"

The sound of an old record player humming to life with the pops and squeals of metal going through the grooves of plastic echoed through the island with a metallic squeal of feedback, going soon into a Blue Oyster Cult guitar riff and one of their all time classics.

"_All our times have come_

_Here but now they're gone_

_Seasons don't fear the reaper_

_Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain_

_We can be like they are_

_  
Come on baby... Don't fear the Reaper_

_Baby take my hand... Don't fear the Reaper_

_We'll be able to fly... Don't fear the Reaper_

_Baby I'm your man..."_

* * *

On paper, Rudy Daniels, a.k.a. Boy # 18 and Lindsay Hill, a.k.a. Girl # 23 would be the perfect couple. He was one of the greatest high school football players in the state, getting offers from colleges near and far for scholarships (compensating for the fact that his grades weren't that great, Rudy was very proud) and Lindsay was one of the most popular girls in school. She was small and petite, but generally cheery and one of the best athletes the school had to offer as part of the Swim 6. They had met and fell in love in their junior year, growing closer and closer throughout their senior year to a point where they were thoroughly committed to one another. 

It wasn't an uncommon sight to see them strolling around the Braiwood High campus, arm in arm, kissing each other and making out in the dark corners of the school. He cleared her head by over a foot and was always hunching down to kiss her, but to anyone who asked, they were still a very cute couple.

Of course everyone thought they were having sex, but oddly enough (at least in the hormone-addled halls of Braiwood High) they weren't. They had planned on saving themselves for marriage, which, as things had been going, seemed more than likely. At least until the Battle Royale came in.

Then again, things weren't so easy before they had been kidnapped and strapped with explosives. The parents on both sides both objected to their union, which of course only drove the couple closer. It was tragic star-crossed lovers things to the extreme, classic Shakespeare and they both relished in it as much as it gave them a problem. It made things so much more... intense.

So, they were normal young teenagers in love, how was that a problem? The reason for their families strife wasn't so much a problem in the area of Southern California and other urbanized areas and was usually an issue in the deep south and similar areas with old fashioned mindsets. The issue was rather cut and dry, and truly was skin deep.

The issue at hand was the fact that Lindsay of Dutch-Irish descent, short and with dirty blonde hair, while Rudy was tall, dark and African-American. Both of their sets of parents were of an old world mentality, and relationships outside of one's own race... were seen as undesirable and out of line. That was always an issue, but then again, so was their love.

"So where are we going?" Lindsay asked.

Rudy got out of the haze that he had been in, looking back to his girlfriend. Her face was bright now, even in what was easily the worst situation anyone could have ever expected to be in. They would die, it was all but certain. Rudy was the only one who had any semblance of hope between them.

"Find someone who knows what's going on," Rudy said, "we're gonna find someone who knows what's going on and we're gonna get out of here is what I'm thinking."

Lindsay could only smile. She had a realistic mentality about the game, she knew that chances for survival were just about nil. Then Rudy would come in with his infinite optimism, not discussing death in the slightest (she suggested they commit suicide together which he thoroughly opposed and she just went on smiling) and always sure of a way out. Still, he was incredibly brave and made Lindsay smile to no end. His randomly assigned weapon was completely useless, and still he stood by the door waiting for her to exit. It was stupid, dangerous, and utterly romantic in Lindsay's eyes.

"There's some smart people here," Rudy continued, "people who know how to get out. I'd place money right now on Anna or maybe, maybe Joel. They're working on a way out, guaranteed."

"Anna is a definite. She's in the SDS, they've always got plans and stuff for things like this, but I don't know anyone smarter in school. There's no way I'm getting near Joel though," Lindsay said (being one of the few girls in school immune to Joel's charm), "he scares me. He's just..."

She shuddered.

"Intense?" Rudy asked.

She gave off one of her coy, if a bit frightened smiles, "Something like that. Just scary."

After a moment of odd silence, Lindsay said, "So how do we start looking for people?"

They had stopped to have something of a picnic lunch of MRE's at the old firing range, hiding behind the wooden targets that were propped against piles of old sandbags. There were several wooden posts off to one end with dog tags nailed to them which were admittedly creepy, so they had done their best to avoid them. They sat in overgrown grass near a small stream that ran through the center of the island. The wind was blowing slightly, making the trees around them rustle and the stream gurgle. It was unbelievably pleasant in an unbelievably unpleasant situation.

"I think," Rudy said, "we should follow the stream south. It runs by some buildings, and we're bound to see some more people between here and there."

"There's killers out there though," Lindsay said, "nine people are already dead! Even... even Sky."

Rudy sighed, "We'll get Naomi's gun when she gets back from taking a leak and move from there. Other folks got guns, but it's something. Besides, I can kick their asses if it gets too bad. Even Joel. If anyone tried anything on you, I'd break them in half with my bare hands."

"I think that's terribly romantic," Lindsay said a bit unsure.

"Sorry, but it's true," Rudy replied, "if something were to happen to you I don't know how I'd live with myself."

Lindsay was touched and didn't know how to place it in words. _God, I really do love this man, don't I?_

Looking over her shoulder unconsciously, Lindsay hoped to see Naomi and could not. Where was she? It doesn't take this long to pee, does it?

Naomi Jefferson, a.k.a. Girl # 15, was a mutual friend of theirs who they happened to stumble across in the jungle at around five in the morning. They had been running around aimlessly for so long, and adding her to the group seemed to create a semblance of order at the very least.

Probably the best thing from a game standpoint was the fact that Naomi was the only one in the group with a gun. Her weapon, a 9mm revolver, was more a weapon than the teddy bear that Rudy had received or the can of spring snakes that was in Lindsay's bag. The gun was definite protection.

The gun wasn't the part that allowed Naomi to enter their group. Trust, trust is what made Lindsay and Rudy take her in. While many people from the graduating class had only known each other from the last year or so, Rudy, Lindsay and Naomi went back. Naomi and Lindsay had been a part of the swim team since freshman year, part of the notorious and oft-winning Swim Six, where they in particular became the closest of friends.

Rudy and Naomi went even further back, they'd known each other since the fifth grade when both of them still living in L.A. They were inner city kids through and through, though both had parents who wound up moving to the suburbs of Braiwood for safety. While Rudy had adapted to his surroundings, Naomi still tried to maintain the inner city attitude and strength. At times she was called cool for her behavior, while the rest of the time she often wore thin on people's patience.

Rudy and Lindsay were two of the people who saw her good side more than anyone else.

"Hey guys!" Naomi said as she exited the tree line, striding on over to the lovebirds and grabbing one of the bottles of water.

"Naomi, we have a plan and I think you're going to love it!" Lindsay said with a bright smile.

"Really? Lemme hear all about it girl!" Naomi said with forced smile and enthusiasm. The smile sold it and kept her in the group just fine, and she listened to the plan without really listening. It was asinine, but it would do...

...but it was not what Naomi had in mind. If either Lindsay or Rudy knew her true intentions, they'd probably have either just kept on running when they saw her or killed her outright.

As it happened to be, Naomi was one of the minority who disagreed with the union of Lindsay and Rudy. Why'd he go after blondie when you could have a real woman? It was true, Naomi was beautiful, model quality even, and she was told it often. She was an African Princess while Lindsay... poor little white trash. She didn't even have it where it counted.

Naomi would have done anything to get some quality time with Rudy, and she did mean anything. It was an unrequited love, an unfortunately powerful one at that, but she was sure that Rudy would see the way if all distractions were taken away.

Blondie. Naomi smiled her kind and friendly smile to Lindsay. Sure, they were best friends, but if it meant setting Rudy back onto the right track... She was willing to take certain factors out of the picture to make it happen.

She smiled and simply agreed with everything that was said. It was going to be a beautiful couple of days.

* * *

"Hey Carter," she said, "wake up man." 

She nudged him, trying to roll him slightly but to no avail. He was drugged up real good and wasn't in the mood to be stirring anytime soon. She'd stumbled across him ten minutes ago, where he was unconscious and covered in gore. The remains of Homer Brannick were strewn around the area, but that didn't matter really (though the stench was rather extreme). To Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5, rousing Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1 was of the highest priority.

He was the first friend she met since the beginning of the game who didn't want to kill her, and she was sure he wouldn't want to either. Carter was a genuinely nice guy who couldn't hurt a fly and probably someone whom Ashley would count as her best friend.

Well, it looked like if anyone could get Carter to try and hurt someone, Homer was probably him, even if it was self-defense. Homer had shot Carter several times with a tranquilizer gun, probably messing him up pretty good and they just had it out. Self defense would be easy at that point, he was attacked first. Carter was not an instigator, he just tripped Homer into the zone and Homer went BAM.

On the other hand, Ashley was glad that Carter and Homer had gotten into a fight and had been incapacitated. She had full access to their food and water, and both of their guns. Homer's tranquilizer pistol was not the greatest of weapons (but would work in a pinch if needed). Carter's weapon on the other hand was... nice. Double-barreled Remington shotgun with a bandoleer of ammunition, now that, that was a gun. She had opened both of their packs and spread out all the supplies on the ground, doing a quick inventory to keep things going.

A snap behind her shot her into reality, sending Ashley whirling. She lifted the shotgun high and aimed at around head height towards the sound.

"I hope you don't have ill intentions Ash," the voice said with a bit of southern twang. The figure walked out from the trees and bushes, tall, lanky and clad in a bright orange t-shirt. He held a .357 Magnum in both his hands, aiming it at Ashley in a stalemate of high powered weapons. As things turned out, the figure turned Ashley's scowl into a wide grin.

"Am I glad to see you Gus," she said with a wide grin.

"I'd say the same," Gus O'Ryan, a.k.a. Boy # 20 said with his California redneck accent.

Ashley and Gus were an odd pair, but were good friends as things turned out. She knew how to score some of the better drugs in town, while Gus knew the best biker bars and raves out in the deserts near Barstow. It was a match made in heaven, and they more than anyone else knew how to party and party hardcore.

"Whatcha doin?" Gus asked.

"Trying to wake up Carter and get out of here," Ashley responded. She set the shotgun down and tended to Carter again.

"Why?" Gus asked, "You got a good scattergun there, Carter's just dead weight. If you'd have me, we could protect each other I think."

"Sounds good," Ashley said with a smile, "but Carter's a decent guy who deserves a better shot than this. That, and I owe him one."

"You don't owe him jack shit," Gus said as he jammed his revolver down the front of his pants and picked up the shotgun, eying the weapon with curiosity.

"Hey, he bailed me out of jail at three in the morning back there on prom night with no reason besides being a good guy and decent friend. I don't remember you picking up the phone then."

Gus looked around guiltily, still holding the shotgun and trying to look away, "Fair enough, but is bailing you out of jail good enough to die for?"

"Well," Ashley said conspiratorially, "There is something else."

"There is?" Gus asked with the usual stupid gaze that he held.

"Yeah, Carter might have a way in on a way out I think."

"You do?"

Ashley nodded, tossing Gus Carter's cellular phone.

"I found this in his pocket buzzing away madly. Had a text message on it when I found it, mentioned something about the SDS and knowing how to get out. Anna sent the message from the mess hall, and I trust what she can do. She's probably one of the few really smart people out here."

"Anna's got the clap?" Gus asked, completely bewildered by what Ashley had to say.

"SDS, not STD dumbass. SDS means Student's for a Democratic Society, school's young revolutionaries club basically. Anna's the head, Carter's the vice president and a few other folks are in on it."

"Go on," Gus said, not knowing where it was going but feeling hopeful for the first time in twelve hours.

"I don't know Anna personally and I doubt you do either. If she's telling the truth about being able to get out of here, then Carter's our ticket in on the escape plan."

"So, we carry him to the mess hall?" Gus asked.

"Unless you have any better ideas," Ashley said, getting a little tired of the conversation. Gus was a good guy, but God bless him he was pretty damn slo-

The attack came quickly from the right. She had been silent as Ashley and Gus had been talking, but Lisa Pickford, a.k.a. Girl # 3, knew it was her time. There was no way in hell she was going to let these people beat her. She could not be beat, simple as that, it was not meant to happen. Her family would not allow it and would be here to rescue her soon. Until then, she needed a good weapon, and the double-barreled shotgun that Gus held in his hand looked beyond perfect.

She ran from the bushes, holding in her hand her randomly assigned weapon (an aerosol can of oven cleaner, the kind that had all the warnings about why one should not touch it) and ran at the pair. She ran so fast that neither Gus nor Ashley had time to react. Lisa first barreled towards Ashley, knocking her to the ground and thoroughly stunning the Latina. Gus stood by a bit dumbstruck, holding the gun in both hands.

Turning around quickly, Lisa lifted the can up high and walked on over to Gus, spraying a long stream of oven cleaner into his face. At first he jumped back at being temporarily blinded, he began to scream as the heavy base of the oven cleaner began to react with the acidic oils in his face, causing the flesh to sizzle and his skin to fall off. He fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony as he held the outer layers of his face in his hands, pulling them off with a groan of pain.

Lisa quickly pounced upon Gus, grabbing the shotgun and quickly aiming it at Ashley. The weapon seemed foreign to Lisa, but it was enough like a skeet shooting gun that she felt she could manage.

Ashley was nervous, but wouldn't and couldn't let it show. Of all the people in the world, she was going to be killed by stick-up-her-ass Lisa Pickford? The girl who didn't have sex because it was too messy? She used to joke how Ashley would be her maid one day. Uh unh, no way hon'. Ashley smiled, musing at the situation and stalling so she could formulate a strategy.

"Nice moves," Ashley said with a wry smile.

Lisa was taken a bit off guard, but in a sporting mood, she simply responded, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Ashley said as she put her next move to action. It was easy and risky, but with a shotgun aimed at her chest, Ashley was more than willing to take a gamble. She fell onto her butt, swinging one leg up to kick the gun's barrel. It flew high into the air, rotating the stock of the gun from Lisa's hands and flipping the weapon end over end. Ashley then reached out, grabbing the weapon's sling and pulling it in close. Bracing the stock against her shoulder, she pulled back one of the hammers on the shotgun and brought her finger to the trigger.

Lisa had been so surprised that she didn't even notice the attack until it was well underway. It all seemed to move in slow motion, like in those Matrix movies that she refused to watch because of the audiences. She saw Ashley, she saw Ashley swinging the shotgun around, and then all of a sudden everything was brought back into blindingly fast real time, as Ashley fired a shot. It hit her in the shoulder, tearing away much of the flesh on the upper left quadrant of Lisa's body and severing her arm while keeping it in its socket. Lisa spun around twice like a ballerina before falling on her back.

Lisa was only vaguely aware that she was in excruciating pain, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out why. Her left arm and shoulder were completely useless, and it felt like she was on fire. Her entire body felt heavy and sluggish, and the warm salty taste that gushed from her mouth was something she was pretty positive was blood.

Gathering up all of her energy and trying to bring herself back to reality, Lisa used her good right arm and every bit of will she had left in her body to a sitting position.

Sitting up, she caught a brief glimpse of the twin holes of the shotgun inches away from her face before Ashley let her have the other barrel, effectively turning her head from the eyebrows to her chin into a thick paste blasted against the nearby bushes. Ashley watched with some amusement as the top of Lisa's skull with a bright bit of blonde hair spun off to the side like a Frisbee from hell. For Lisa, the Battle Royale ended as suddenly as it started.

Still holding the smoking shotgun, Ashley ejected the two spent shells and went back to Carter's pack, quickly loading in two more rounds while ignoring the screaming Gus. She recognized Lisa as everyone else did; she was the rich bitch. Daddy owned a computer company that went public in the late eighties, it got big through some less than legal means (insider trading was big on the rumor circuit, though the alleged mob connections and a gypsy curse were the more popular explanations). She was always uptight and feeling entitled to whatever she wanted. People like Ashley were below her, which of course pissed off most classmates more than anything else. Why she was in a public school, no one knew, but it didn't matter. Little Miss I-Can-Take-Whatever-I-Want was deader than a doornail, and Ashley smiled slightly at the situation. Take that bitch.

Letting Lisa easily leave her mind, Ashley proceeded with business. She went over and pulled Lisa's bag from her corpse, opening it and pillaging its goods. She filled her bag with Lisa's water bottles, food and compass, throwing in the can of oven cleaner for good measure. If Gus' face was any indication, it was something that could come in handy down the line.

As well she pulled out a sweater that Lisa had neatly folded up and put into the bag. Ashley grabbed it too, then tending to Gus.

"The bitch fucked up my face!" Gus hollered through his hands. He pulled the gun from his belt and started waving it around wildly, "Where the fuck is she? I'm gonna kill her!"

"Bitch is dead," Ashley said, "ease up man."

He sat back down, keeping his face covered with his hands.

"Can you see?" Ashley asked. It was then that Gus pulled his hands (and a copious amount of skin) from his face. Much of the outer skin and some of the flesh had been eaten away by the oven cleaner, but for the most part he wasn't much worse for wear. It was all superficial. His right eye though was a bit disconcerting. It had a milky white color that seemed to be crusting over, and Ashley was willing to bet that he'd be blind in that eye. The left one though was still bright and looking around actively, even though it was a bit bloodshot.

"Yeah," Gus admitted, "but it hurts like a son of a bitch."

"It's liable to do that for a while," Ashley said as she pulled the tire iron from her belt. She poked one hole of a decent size through the sweater and then went over to Gus, pulling it over his head and using the long sleeves to tie it around his neck. The hole lined up with his eye, giving Gus a masked, Elephant Man sort of look as the sweater covered his head.

"It's gonna hurt like you can't believe," Ashley said, "but you'll live. Now, can you walk and are you still strong?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Gus said though clearly laboring with his speech.

"Good. We need to find somethin so we can make a stretcher and get Carter out of here."

"Why in the hell do we need to carry him with us now? He's dead weight now 'specially that I can't see, just take his guns so we can get the hell out of here!"

"The only chance we have of getting out of here," Ashley accentuated, "is with the people on the other end, I'm certain of that. Anna's good at this sort of thing. Carter's the only link we have with them, he's our get out of jail free card, you get me?"

"Yeah," Gus admitted as he started to calm down a bit, "I do."

"Good, so that's settled," Ashley said, "now let's find us that door."

Gus was grumbling and in extreme pain, but at least looking around for a stretcher for Carter was a diversion that helped him not focus on his face. They searched for twenty minutes, then finding a suitable door from one of the barracks and tearing it off its hinges. They brought it over and rolled the unconscious Carter onto the flat. He would be heavy, but if they lashed him down they would be able to lift one end and drag him a good distance.

Slicing up Lisa and Homer's packs with Ashley's lucky switchblade offered enough lashing material to tie Carter to the door, and with that finished it was a done deal. Each had loaded up their packs with the food and water from Carter, Katie and Homer's bags, while they had the weapons distributed evenly between them. Gus had his revolver in the holster on his hip, bullets at the ready, and Ashley's tire iron jammed into his belt for safe keeping. Ashley kept Carter's shotgun slung over her shoulder and Peter's baton in her belt, while all the shotgun shells, Katie's spray can and Homer's gun and darts were all crammed into her bag. It was a tight fit, but it would be good to go.

The two who bounded off with a big redhead tied to a door were an odd couple, tall redneck with a mask and wiry Latina with a shotgun, but they were partners now through and through. They'd make it to the mess hall, work together with the rest and find a way out of here.

It was as simple as that.


	18. Hour 13: 41 Contestants Remaining

Hour 13

41 Contestants Remaining

Anna Rourke, a.k.a. Girl # 7, paced around idly inside the mess hall while carrying her baseball bat. She smoked a Morley, taking a long drag and enjoying the smoke as it coated her lungs. It took a lot of the pressure off.

She had come into the game a hardened bitch ready to take on the world; ready to walk over everyone and kick them when they're down just like in school. A realization of mortality took all those delusions down and brought Anna back into reality. It ain't gonna happen, she may be cold but she wasn't a killer. Especially not when bowing down to the governments will, no way, no how.

Her messaging maneuver had worked without a hitch, and already (maybe even surprisingly) she had gathered suitable forces.

Doug Rodgers, a.k.a. Boy # 2, had been the first. Soon after her encounter on the beach with the camera, she had run into tiny Doug. Doug, the only sixteen-year-old senior of Braiwood High. Doug, the guy who looked like a strong wind would knock him over. Doug, technological mastermind and certified genius. He had been carrying a crowbar when she ran across him, though he could hardly lift it in a defensive manner. Surprised, Anna had lifted her baseball bat high and prepared to strike him down.

"I can get the belt off if you don't kill me!" he shrieked.

After that it was a match made in heaven. Normally Anna would not associate herself with other people like Doug, but with his know-how and her organizational, leadership and revolutionary skills, it was perfect. He had been the one who told her about the microphones in the belt, and how radio signals could be distorted with enough metal covering. He had been the one that figured out that the huge walk in meat freezer in the mess hall would be perfect for having conversations that the government would not be able to monitor. With Anna's promise of knowing a loophole and Doug's technological skills, they knew it would be no sweat getting out.

Two realizations had hit Anna at that time that made her realize it wouldn't be _quite_ as easy. The first one compounded onto the next, so they were quick to come by. The first was that they'd probably need more than just the pair of them for the plan to go off without a hitch. Finding people they could trust would be a hard one, but Anna had fixed that easily enough. She had text messaged (since any voice communication would have been caught and she did not want the people running the game knowing what was going on) the people she knew she could trust. Naomi, Jenny, and Lindsay of the Swim Six (she would have called Sky, but she was dead; one of the few things that actually got Anna sad) were her obvious and first choices, but Jenny was the only one to actually respond to it. Either the other girls didn't have their phones or they were turned off. Whatever it was, Anna was pissed, but there wasn't much she could do about it. The next people were all those she could get from the SDS, the club that she had founded and built from the ground up from the school's young revolutionary or wannabe hippy crowd. Carter, Blake, Michael and Eliza were high on that list, though only Michael and Carter had responses. Blake, as it turned out was very dead (taking the easy way out as Anna liked to think) and Eliza... If she was smart, she was shacking up with Jackson and screwing all their time away, though she'd have much preferred to have an extra pair of hands.

As it was, Anna was expecting a small group of people. Her, Doug, Carter, Michael and Jenny would screw the system, make it out of here and make the government shove it. She'd lead them against the government war dogs and lead the students to make an impact. She wasn't quite a Carl Oglesby and she'd be the first to admit it, but she liked to think she was within reach of being in his league. Anna prided herself with being an active revolutionary in a dangerous time when differing political expressions could lead to a quick death.

Of all the things she had anticipated, she had not expected the sheer amount of people to show up. Michael had brought a blood drenched Lexie Hawk and Paul Holt along with the rather clean Katherine Farraday. The fact that Lexie and Katherine both packed pistols and Paul sported a chainsaw and some hand grenades (he pick those off of someone, or was that the reward he was promised?) more than made up for the fact that they were relative strangers. Demure Jenny had brought the giant Francisco Marquez, the man carrying an ice pick and a roll of duct tape while Jenny herself could sport nothing more her assigned deck of playing cards and that damn Polaroid camera she never got rid of. Neither was really a weapon, but they could use them to kill time if they ever got around to time that could be killed. Her face was all screwed up, she muttered something about an attack from AJ but chose to not really talk about it. She was glad to have seen Anna though and cheered up markedly, but Anna was more concerned with adding an extra name to the list of people to look out for. AJ.

The strangest moment of the day had happened just moments ago, as Carter was dragged in on a door by Ashley and Gus. He was gorked out and not really up for anything that involved consciousness, but the guns that Ashley and Gus carried more than made up for the story that Anna didn't believe. _If they really did attack Carter, would they have taken the trouble to drag him in here alive? Why wouldn't they just kill us all with their guns?_

So, she had been hoping for a group of five, instead managing a group of now... Eleven. Anna's Eleven she had said to herself, smiling at how well it rolled off of her tongue. Michael, Lexie, Paul, Katherine, Jenny, Francisco, Ashley, Carter, Gus and Doug. Altogether they made nearly one fourth of the students involved in the Battle Royale.

With everyone there, she knew she needed to make a speech just to tell them what was going on. She had herded all of them into the dormant walk in freezer, a room easily twice the size of most of their classrooms. The walls were mostly white, though stained brown with age, but the metal construct was obvious whenever they spoke. The echo was unmistakable, and some of the massive rust stains that decorated the walls were undeniably pungent.

After scavenging a few cots from the closest barracks (admittedly something of a hike, but they knew they would likely be making that freezer their hideaway for a while, so it was a priority to make it comfortable) and a table from the mess hall itself, they had already made it something like home.

Anna dropped the cigarette to the floor, stepping on it and crushing it out. She had been formulating the speech in her head for some time now, and it seemed a better time than any to deliver it. This was it, address the troops and get this all out on the table. Let the game be known for what it is, and tell them what the score was.

With some effort she swung open the heavy door of the freezer and surveyed the group inside. If it wasn't for the table and cots, it really would have been a simple white box of a room with some odd brown stains here and there coming from rust. Carter was on one of the cots, still unconscious, though he was rolling around in his sleep. He'd be rousing soon. Lexie was curled up into a ball on another cot, while Katherine sat next to her and wrapped her arm around her shoulders, comforting the other girl. Ashley, Paul and Michael had a nervous game of poker going, but they needed something to pass the time. The rest sat by nervously, not knowing what the hell to do or what was going on. They all had on tatters of clothes, most down to wearing tank tops and bandannas in the heat. Gus still wore his strange sweater mask and looked from behind that one hole that bore his eye. Their pistols, the shotgun, the tranq gun, Paul's grenades and their various melee weapons were laid out on a table. They all had the look of some ramshackle guerilla group.

My god, Anna thought, I'm in a Weather Underground meeting. Seriously, this is all really happening. Silence filled the room as she entered, everyone stopping, sitting, watching. She was the one who brought them all together, and she would be the one to lay it all out.

She strode confidently over to one of the clear walls and pulled from her pocket a Magic Marker that Paul had provided (she was lucky that he had planned on vandalizing the bathrooms during grad night, it was an oddly sick sort of fortunate). Pulling off the cap, she wrote in large letters on the wall:

**SABRE**

"Everybody, welcome to SABRE. We are the Students Against Battle Royale," Anna said as she paced around in the room, "we're all here on the governments whim. We're here to entertain the masses. We're here, to kill each other. Now, I know since we're all here right now and with these guns on the table that we're not here to kill each other, otherwise this room would be filled with bodies and lots of blood, but that's beside the point. If you're in the room now you want to take down the system, and I'm glad you're all here for it.

She paused, allowing a moment for her words to sink in before continuing.

"You can go into this game in three ways basically. You can give in, accept your fate and try to avoid death for as long as you can, or maybe even commit suicide like Blake. You can decide to play, run around killing your friends, the people you've known since you were kids. This is also giving in, here you give into the government and let them win."

"Ummm, question," Paul said with a raised hand and his usual sarcasm.

"What is it?" Anna asked gruffly.

"I killed Brian earlier. He killed Sky, tried to kill Lexie, so I cut him up real good."

"Yeah, and I wasted Peter and Lisa," Ashley said, "so I guess that means I gave in too."

"Self defense does not equate to giving in," Anna said comfortingly as she gestured with her hands, "it equates to survival pure and simple. In the Battle Royale here, some people are bound to go nuts. They're going to forget who they are, what they are, and they give in to the moment and try and kill everyone in sight. We haven't given in obviously, or else everyone here would be dead by now."

"So anything here don't involve giving in?" Ashley asked.

Anna was visibly irritated with Ashley, but kept on going, "Enter option number three: escape."

There was a rumbling in the room through the people sitting before her, and Anna explained.

"I can explain the plan to get out, but we all have to declare that we will not kill each other, and will kill others only when given no other options. All agree, say aye."

Aye's were abound in the room, with the unconscious Carter being the only notable exception.

"All right then."

Anna then proceeded to go to another clear wall, using her map to draw a reasonable interpretation of the island. She marked off their current location with a big X.

"We are here, wherever that is. We want to get home, but I am telling you all right now that there is no way any of us are going to be seeing Braiwood again. As soon as we escape we will be fugitives and we need to find the nearest non-extradition country to live out the rest of our days in. If this doesn't sound good to you, head on out and play the game, you have my sympathies and I wish you the best of luck. Leave now though, otherwise you'll be wasting my time and you don't want to waste my time."

Again, no one moved and they all looked on.

"All right. The situation is like this, we are on an island with nearly impenetrable defenses. The tunnel we came in on is surrounded by soldiers, and besides the entrance is now a danger zone, that is no good for any of us so long as we have these belts on. Same goes for the radio tower. By my best estimations, if we can destroy the radio tower the signals to these belts will be interrupted and they will fall off."

"But the tower's also in a danger zone," Francisco piped in, "making a run on there would be impossible."

"And we don't have the explosives to pull it off," Anna said, "which is why we're not going to do it. That's where Doug comes in, Doug?"

Doug nervously pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose, then speaking up a bit nervously to the group.

"Well, I'm positive that I can figure out how to pry these things apart given some tools and a little bit of time."

"Do it wrong and it blows one of us in half," Ashley said, "who's gonna be your guinea pig kiddo?"

"Well, we need to find a, um, a body. Maybe several. Someone who has died who hasn't damaged their belt or had it explode, but I know I can do it. Just give me a belt, a knife and maybe a screwdriver and I could figure out how to take these things off."

Ashley was the only one not buying the spiel, but she wasn't really one to argue with it. She knew if she started arguing with Anna, it would bring more problems than solutions, and it would destroy what hope the others had left. Besides, without them, Ashley knew she couldn't get out either. Still, she did need to bring up some questions.

"All right, say we get these belts off and past the cameras that will send soldiers once they find out what we've done, how are we going to get off the island? I've been to the east side of the island. Shore's easily ten, twelve miles off, and how many of us can swim that?"

"Don't have to," Anna said with a smile, "we can just get a boat and drive on out of here, simple as that."

"Can you explain how that works?" Paul asked with a smile, "I mean, this is so unbearably impossible but I'm loving it, keep going!"

Anna was once more irritated, and rubbing her temples she spoke up, "They say that they do not need boats to patrol the island, since they have buoys that transmit danger zone signals out to prevent escape by sea. They're lying. They do have boats patrolling the island, I've seen one. Damage a camera or any other equipment they have set up and they'll immediately turn the area into a danger zone. This is for the purpose of bringing in a repair crew to fix the camera, make things work again. Now, the boat and the repair crew consist of soldiers, but there couldn't be more than half a dozen of them tops, and their armaments consisted mostly of tranquilizer guns from all I could see."

Everyone began looking on with even more interest, even Ashley.

"The boat comes right up to the shore, so it goes like this. We get the belts off, destroy every camera we can find in close proximity, wait for the repair crew, take them out, take their boat and make a run for the shore. This plan is not without its dangers, but if we all work together, I know we can pull it off without any problems. We'll get out of here and we'll get out of here alive. This will take a couple days to plan and to pull it off just right, but I know we can do it. Are you all with me on this?"

There was silence for a moment in the room. Doug was the one to break it, if in his quiet and self-conscious sort of way.

"I told you before and I'll tell you now, I'm in," he said.

"I've never said no to you before and I'm not going to start now, I'm going with you to the end," Jenny responded.

"You got me and my saw," Paul said, pumping his hand into the air.

One by one the rest stepped forward with their various levels of support with Lexie even giving off a bit of a nod. Not all had the greatest of faith in the plan, while some of the others had no other choice but to keep their sanity by agreeing to the plan. Ashley was the last, as the rest had expected.

"Ash, you in or are you out?"

"I think y'all are fuckin nuts," Ashley said, "but this might just work. And I got a lot of respect for ya and what you're doing here Anna, I'd rather have you watching my back instead of in your way. I'm in all the way here."

Anna for the first time let a genuine smile cross her face. She usually tried to maintain the façade of a cold-hearted bitch, but with all pretenses aside here, she knew she could take on the world and maintain humanity. She would screw the government over and live the life of a true rebel, not just one of those wannabe's whose all talk and no action.

She reached onto the table and picked up her aluminum bat. Taking a cue from many a documentary she had seen on the sixties, she lifted the bat over her head like a gun and yelled out to the crowd before her (well, not really yelling since it was a small room, but yelling enough to get their attention).

"Long live SABRE!" she said in much the same way she would deliver campaign speeches at school.

For once, everyone responded.

For once, they believed in Anna.

For once, things were looking up in the Battle Royale.

And for the only time in the game, the eleven who were in on the escape had hope. It was a good thing to have, given the fact that within the next forty-eight hours most of them would be dead.


	19. Hour 14: 41 Contestants Remaining

Hour 14

41 Contestants Remaining

Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs cites that human beings are motivated by unsatisfied needs, and that once certain lower needs are satisfied, the need directly above it becomes priority. Mind you, it like any other psychological theory is not the end all, be all of existence, but in the most rudimentary of situations it can be a definite constant. Maslow believed that people were basically trustworthy, self-protective and governing, and that overall they tended towards growth and love, resorting to violence and hate only when their needs are not met.

He diagrammed it in a sort of five level pyramid, with the most basic needs on the lowest level and the most complex at the highest. At the bottom, there are physiological needs, such as food, drink and sleep. Once those are satisfied, humans tend to go for the second level of the pyramid: safety. Finding acceptance in a peer group, a stable and safe family life, and maybe a little bit of real safety thrown in for good measure. With safety and physiological needs met, the person seeks out the next level of their needs. Love...

Maxine Summers, a.k.a. Girl # 25, went over the psychology notes in her head. They had helped comfort her for much of the time. She'd gotten food, water and sleep (hiding underneath a couple logs in the forest, it was uncomfortable and she was covered in bugs afterwards, but no one had discovered her and she got in about six hours of sleep). She had her safety, more physical than through a group as it was. Her randomly assigned weapon was a bulletproof vest, and although it had not come in handy yet (she was hoping it never, ever would) it was comfort. It was her safety.

Although she had these and she believed in the needs pyramid, she knew that her true motivation would've come through whether or not her physiological and safety needs had been fulfilled or not.

For Maxine, her one true need and motivation was simple.

Love.

Love drove her in life, love decided her intentions. She was truly, madly, deeply in love. And as the fates would have it, her love was thrust in the Battle Royale with her.

She couldn't find them early on in the game, she had run off too quickly to hide away, and almost instantly she hated herself. She missed out. She missed out on her love, and that had hit her the hardest. She spent a lot of time hiding under her two logs, crying silently and wondering why it had all happened. She was not a bad person. More than anything else she wanted to help people. She wanted to get into child psychology, help out the autistic and children with various other disorders.

Yes, she was a cheerleader, and she'd be one of the only ones to admit it without any level of pride. She was a cheerleader, but she wasn't conceited. She was beautiful, but she didn't need to flaunt it. The only reason she was a cheerleader was the fact that it would look good for extra-curricular activities and she was a great dancer. Out of all of them, she was the only true dancer and was the most graceful in the school, maybe even moreso than Marie Cooper (though humility kept her from admitting it). Her quiet nature and her status as "different" kept her out of the Brat Pack, but in all honesty she didn't want anything to do with them. Individually they were nice, but together... Scary.

Maxine sighed.

She couldn't kill; she knew that. She wasn't even sure if she could do it in self-defense. MAYBE in self-defense, but that was a big maybe. She wanted to find a way out, but knew that as well was impossible. The best she could really hope for was finding her love and hoping to work things out from there. Maybe rehash some good times before the inevitable end? That's what she'd have liked to do more than anything else, grab a couple of beers (well, she was a fan of soda personally, though her partner was a big fan of the champagne) and sit on the roof of a building, watching the stars, making love and waiting for the inevitable.

Prom. Thinking of the prom made her smile. The prom was where they met. The prom was, simply put, a wonderful occasion. It was where they met, or more appropriately where they fell in love. They had known each other for some time already, but... prom was when it became something more. Prom was when it became real.

She hadn't gone with anyone, and she hadn't gone with the intention of meeting anyone while she was there. She didn't have any real reason to go, but hey, it was prom and she knew that she would kick herself in the long run if she didn't go. A simple black dress provided by her mother and getting the hair and makeup done made it perfect.

At least, it seemed like it would have been a great night, truth be told for the most part it was quite dull. The DJ was good and the building was a classic, a nice combination dance hall/ 40's night club. It was just an odd situation, Maxine felt lonely. She had no real friends there, no one to commiserate with, no one to dance with (though she did humor Josh Peters for a few minutes while he did some insanely stupid dancing for the amusement of the crowd, and she did laugh). She had relegated herself to kicking back on one of the indoor balconies overlooking the dance floor. The balconies were a nice place to hang out, since they did have a nice setup; full working bar (with soda, no alcohol for the high school kids), pool tables, chairs and several large tropical fish tanks that acted as colorful centerpieces to the room.

Hanging out by one of the fish tanks with a Sprite, Maxine was about ready to call it a night. It was not a great night, not a bad night, just a little in between. As her friend from Canada would say, meh. Stay through the next song at the very least, the DJ transitioned into Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time", a song that made Maxine melt. Nice, romantic, with a good rock backing to make it perfect. It was one of her favorites. Just stay to the end of the song and then get going.

Bored, but enjoying the song, Maxine looked through the fish tank. An angel fish swam by lazily. Beautiful and lazy, or as Maxine liked to think about it, heaven.

It was then that their eyes met. From opposite sides of the fish tank, Maxine locked eyes with her friend. They smiled at each other from opposite sides of the fish tank, looking into each others eyes and enjoying the moment. It brought butterflies into Maxine's stomach, they were just looking at each other but there was such love and friendships in each other's eyes. It was wonderful. True, it was clichéd like that crappy Romeo and Juliet remake, but Maxine was willing to forgive and forget. For all she knew, she very well may have fallen in love with a good friend and confidante just by looking through a fish tank.

They spent the next couple of hours talking more than they had ever talked before, both griping about the night and giggling to each other when one would up the other in their wisecracks. They were friendly, but the body language didn't lie, there was definitely some flirtation going on. True, Maxine did instigate the flirtation, but when the other would fire it back, she could only smile. It was working out to be a great night.

Hours of laughter, hugs and flirtatious touching (nothing serious though) later, Maxine had felt the night did not go to a total waste. True, there may have been nothing there between them outside of the friendship, but she was grateful to have found more of a friend than she knew before. It was a great night.

And then some idiot pulled a fire alarm as a practical joke. During "I Melt With You" someone had an inspiration and pulled the alarm, setting off a horrible shrieking siren and the sprinklers. It was raining indoors, the water pouring all around. People were running every which way, screaming, shrieking and laughing. The DJ's equipment shorted out with a metallic squeal (and electrocuted several people evidently, something Maxine did not know until after the fact), while Maxine had run out laughing. She looked behind her, and indeed they were still together.

They were smiling and standing in a hallway directly below one of the sprinklers, looking at each other and laughing like mad. Maxine was the first to kiss, which left an awkward silence aside from the sprinklers droning down around them. Oh god, please say that wasn't a mistake. It's too good a night, please don't have that be a regret. Please.

Maxine was kissed back, and the two of them fell into each others arms. They spent the night drying out and making love.

For Maxine, life was good. Even if it was best that they keep their relationship a secret, all was well with the world.

And then came the Battle Royale.

She shuddered as she was brought back into reality. Life was hard, this was harder. She was wandering with a purpose, hoping beyond all hopes that she would find her love and at the very least get some closure before it was all over. If at all possible, she'd have liked to spend the rest of the days wrapped up in a blanket, her partner and very little else, but she knew she'd take what she could get.

Breaking through some bushes, she could catch the outline of a building. And there was someone walking around outside, hidden from view among the trees but nearby enough that Maxine could see them clearly. Could it be? No, it can't, luck isn't that good. Wait, wait, it is! It's...

Ecstatic, Maxine ran over and wrapped her arms around her one true love. It was going to be all right after all.

"Jesus Christ!" Ayane Fujikawa, a.k.a. Girl # 14 responded out of fear, pushing Maxine away and drawing out her machete.

"Ayane, it's me!" Maxine shrieked pleadingly, backing away slightly.

"Oh god," Ayane said trembling as she pushed the machete back into it's sheath, "I am so sorry, I didn't know it was you. You scared the hell out of me."

The two women embraced, hugging each other close and kissing gently. It was reasonably common knowledge among the senior class that Maxine was indeed a lesbian, but it was accepted. There were about twelve other gay and lesbian students among the graduating class, so Maxine was nothing special. Outwardly, she was as normal as anyone else, she just found herself falling for different people than most of the other girls.

And at the prom, she had fallen deeply and madly in love with Ayane Fujikawa, one of the most conservative girls in school and the head cheerleader, and it was widely known that the cheerleaders were one of the most homophobic groups on campus, with Brynn and Cheryl known for their outspoken views against "dykes and other unnatural scum".

Ayane was one to take it all in stride, she was conservative but open-minded to other people's views. She was old-world Japanese in many respects, but she had been Americanized. Thank God she had been Americanized, everything was so much more fun over here...

She was drunk on prom night and honestly her judgment wasn't all that great. She had gone with Maxine on something of a whim, enjoying the flirtiness and curious as to where it would go. She never expected in her wildest dreams that she would fall in love so early and life, and with another woman to boot! It was crazy. She was willing to go with it and enjoy it while it lasted, but she was the first to admit that it needed to stay a secret.

Ayane had a reputation to keep up. Head cheerleader, class vice-president, valedictorian and headed off to Harvard to study law, she needed to keep this low profile for her sake.

The Battle Royale was just poor timing and bad luck.

"Where've you been?" Ayane asked.

"Hiding, what about you love?" Maxine asked with a dreamy look on her face.

"I've got a stronghold with the other girls," Ayane said, "we've got a pretty good setup, it's safe, it's barricaded and everyone's ok. Cheryl's been shot, but we're all still good."

"Oh," Maxine said, having hoped for something a bit more private, "do you have any more room?"

"I'll get you in," Ayane said, "Brynn's probably not going to like it very much, but I could get her to think what I want."

"You've very good at getting people to do things," Maxine said conspiratorially.

"Yes," Ayane said with a smile, "yes I am."

"I love you," Maxine said out of nowhere in complete seriousness.

"I love you too," Ayane responded, kissing Maxine quickly on the lips, "let's go."

Ayane hacked through much of the undergrowth with her machete, where the pair made their way back to the infirmary. Ayane chatted away excitedly about all the setups that had been done, their great organization, and that they had opened up a line of communication with Anna and some of the others holed up in the mess hall. They had a way out, and things were going to work out just fine.

Maxine was satisfied.

A distinctive clicking sound greeted the two women as they approached the infirmary, the sound of a bullet being chambered in a lever-operated rifle. They both halted in their steps as Brynn looked down from the roof with rifle in hand.

"What's she doing here?" Brynn asked with hostility, aiming the rifle towards Maxine. Ayane stepped forward, trying to shield Maxine.

"Ease up Brynn!" Ayane said quickly, "It's Maxine, she doesn't mean any harm and she's on her own out here. We need as many bodies as we can get and she's willing to help us in the escape."

"No dice," Brynn said, "you said you'd patrol to see if you can find any weapons, not pick up dyke bitches. We've got more than enough people as it is, Cheryl's a gimp and Tammy's a waste of space, we've got too many people as it is. How do we know we can trust her anyway, she's a fuckin dyke!"

"She's a good person," Ayane said defensively, looking into Maxine's pleading eyes and trying to come up with something, "and she's got food and water."

"Food and water my ass," Brynn said, "trust's enough of a problem as it is, we can't have her."

"I don't have any weapons," Maxine said a bit softly, getting Brynn to do nothing more than lift her rifle up higher.

"The bitch gets any closer and she gets one between the eyes," Brynn said.

"Brynn, come on," Ayane said harshly, "she's another person and she's still kept her sanity. This place is filled with crazy fucks and the more sane people we have on our side the fewer there are out there getting killed by the psychos."

"Fuck the psychos," Brynn said, "she gets anywhere near me and I'll blow a hole in her fuckin head."

To make a point, Brynn fired off a shot that slammed into the grass and the dirt between Ayane and Maxine, sending Maxine sprawling back towards the bushes.

"Brynn, stop with the shit and let us both in!" Ayane yelled.

"No way, I'm drawin the line here," Brynn said, "you get in and send the bitch on her way. Five seconds and I'm blasting her head open, I swear! You stay there any longer I'll shoot you too!"

"Brynn, stop this shit!" Ayane yelled back.

"Oh I'm not stopping, I'm just getting started!" Brynn yelled back.

Maxine looked to the ground nervously, to Brynn and Ayane. This is not what was supposed to happen, no. Brynn wouldn't have a problem with putting a bullet right through her head, Maxine wasn't stupid. Time and again derogative messages had been written on the door where the Gay-Straight Alliance club met, and on more than one occasion Brynn could be seen walking away giggling. Top that off with the burned rainbow pin that she'd snuck into her locker and Maxine knew that Brynn was not one to mess with, not out here.

"Hey, hey, please just be quiet, everyone!" Maxine pleaded as she raised her voice, "If we keep yelling like this someone is going to hear and they're going to try and come to kill all of us."

She sighed, "I'll leave. If it means none of us die now, I'll leave."

"No, you don't have to," Ayane blurted out as she looked to her girlfriend.

"Yes, I do," Maxine replied softly, "I do."

Ayane and Maxine looked upon each other helplessly. 'I love you' Maxine mouthed. 'You too' Ayane mouthed and trying to force a smile, 'Go to Mess Hall'.

Maxine smiled and blew a kiss Ayane's way, and fortunately Brynn was none the wiser. Ayane made her way back to the door, trying to hold back all emotion, while Maxine ran off into the forest crying. It wasn't right. It wasn't right, they were supposed to meet up, they were supposed to join each other and have the game end around them. She was sad, but she dashed blindly through the forest as quick as she could. Mess Hall. Was that some rallying point? Some way out? Some place to meet her later? Maxine didn't know, but she was willing to find out.

She'd see Ayane again once they are all in on the way out. She found herself focusing on that, pushing the tears away as she sprinted through the jungle. Look to the future, stay safe. Focus on the good and everything will work out in the en-

A scream brought Maxine back into reality, and for the second time in under an hour she ran directly into another of the Battle Royale contestants. Unlike Ayane, this one was neither slim nor yielding, rather it was large and bulbous, stopping Maxine in her tracks and knocking her down.

The short, stout and overweight figure of Elena Norris, a.k.a. Girl # 22 stood in Maxine's way. She was beaten from her earlier encounter with Brian, but she was determined to not let it happen again. She carried her tattered pack and her randomly assigned weapon, a foot long flat bladed screwdriver yet held it threateningly towards Maxine. The look of terror on her face told all sorts of stories, but even Maxine didn't have the time to try and interpret her fear.

Elena lifted her arm high in a high arc in a motion that would drive it deep into Maxine's chest. She could see the bulletproof vest, but was one of the few people smart enough to know that Kevlar cannot protect from stabbing motions.

"Now ladies, I'll be the first to say this is pretty hot," a masculine voice said from one side. Both women stared over somewhat dumbstruck at a dark figure who stood off to one side. He wore a jacket and an aged tarp wrapped around one arm. The most distinguishing and frightening feature on the individual was not his strong if a bit disproportionate stature, or the tarp that was swaddled thickly around his forearm, but his face. His face was invisible, hidden behind an old mask that had been used for fencing at one time or another. The mask was old and rusted, but would work effectively at hiding his real face.

"Tip of the day, don't scream if you can't help it," he said cheerfully, "it gives away your position. Now ladies, this is a robbery, and this is a gun." He waved the tarp that was wrapped around his forearm, pointing it at the women. The tarp was a crude silencer, but rather effective nevertheless. Elena and Maxine both stood back in shock.

"Now ladies, hands up!"

They both looked around, not knowing what to do. Maxine could've run, she knew it too, but the chest or back... that's all that's safe. What if he shoots you elsewhere?

"NOW!" the figure screamed, waving his gun higher.

They both did so, backing up against a nearby tree and trembling. Maxine started tearing up again, while Elena was shaking in fear.

"Fat girl, gimme the screwdriver," he said. Elena was sure to oblige, tossing the weapon at his feet. He picked it up with his free hand, pushing it down the front of his pants for safety.

"Now, Tiny," he said as he rummaged around in his pack. Opening it up, he pulled out a coil of old rope and threw it towards Maxine, "tie Fat Girl to the tree."

She paused, looking at the rope at her feet. The strange figure, very irritated yelled out, "NOW BITCH BEFORE I SHOOT YOUR FUCKING ARM OFF!"

Crying even more, Maxine picked up the rope and looked towards Elena who was now equally terrified. Undeterred, she pushed Elena against the tree and started tying her to it, binding her hands and waist to the massive trunk.

The masked figure cocked his head as Maxine finished tying Elena to the tree. He aimed the swaddled up arm that held the gun at Maxine.

"Now bring me your packs, both of them," he hissed, swinging the bundled up weapon at Maxine. With tears streaming from her face, she complied, dragging Elena's tattered pack and her own full pack.

"Now take off the vest," he said, aiming his weapon at her head. As she paused, he yelled, "NOW!"

With tears in her eyes and in near complete shock, Maxine's shaky hands pulled the vest off, tossing it at her attackers feet. The masked figure with the bundled up arm quickly used his free hand to pull the vest over his head, using the Velcro and snaps to put it in place. He rotated his hips, probably smiling behind the mask that obscured his face, modeling himself in front of an invisible mirror.

"Thank you ladies, you've been great," he said, "and now I'm going to leave you in peace, take care!"

He picked up their backpacks and swung his own over his shoulder using the free hand, and he turned his back to the girls. Maxine breathed a sigh of relief, still in shock over what happened, while Elena looked on dumbstruck from the tree she was tied to. The figure then paused ten paces away from the girls and turned around.

"By the way..." he said evilly. He dropped the backpacks to the ground and reached the bundle on the gun around his arm. He pulled the tarp off and revealed the two sticks that he had tied to the stump of his arm and unwound it, revealing there to be no gun.

"Keep on your toes ladies," Damien Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17 said with a bit of a giggle, "there's tricksters all around here, many of 'em with worse temperaments than yours truly. You just watch yourselves, ok?"

The three looked at each other in a strange sort of silence. Soon enough, Damien started laughing, a deep and genuine laugh that had him almost doubling over. Elena also began to laugh, and Maxine in a disturbed and self-conscious sort of way began to giggle as well. It was a joke, all some big joke that Damien in all of his one-armed glory was in on. The three stood there laughing for a few moments, enjoying the situation for perhaps the first time since the day before.

With lightning speed, the boy jumped forward and cleared the gap between them, rapidly pulling Elena's screwdriver from his belt and angling it down. Jumping up towards her tree, he rotated the screwdriver sideways and thrust it quickly towards her head. He thrust the foot long blade all the way through Elena's left ear, getting the point flat-bladed screwdriver's tip to poke out of Elena's other ear. With her brain activity thoroughly damaged, her mouth hung open and closed limply, drool flowing freely as blood began to trickle from her nose. She twitched against her bindings on the tree, her eyes rolling back into her skull as blood gushed from both ears.

Maxine screamed, standing still in shock. Damien pulled the weapon from her skull, looking at the blood on the side and smiling his crooked and ugly smile from behind the mask. Turning his attention to Maxine, she finally caught herself and started to sprint off.

She ran on pure instinct and fear, running as best as she could recall towards Ayane. Ayane had a gun, Ayane was the only one who could save her. Ayane was stronger than Maxine could ever be, and she needed the strength more than ever now. With fear running through her veins, she sprinted, glad to be in as good shape as she was. Maxine could hear Damien crashing through the tree branches and vines behind her, never once looking back.

Breathing heavily, she ran. She was tiring, gasping for air while her heart beat strongly against her chest. She had to see Ayane one last time. She had to have Ayane save her. The trees branches that hung down tore at her face, arms and shirt, but she didn't care. She was much faster and more nimble than Damien; that was a definite advantage. Breaking through one level of branches, she could see it. The infirmary. It was no more than one hundred feet away, and there was still the distinct chance that she could get in. Smiling from hope, she looked behind her to see what had happened to The Demon. She remembered him and remembered him well. He was the one armed freak who would always stare and smile an evil smile, broken with all those sharp teeth, and that tongue he would always run across them. She shuddered thinking of him.

He ran behind her on his one hand and feet, clumsily hobbling about like a three-legged dog. Nevertheless, he was limber and practiced, running on all three as fast as a normal man would on two legs. With the screwdriver in hand, he pounced and jumped through the air, knocking down Maxine while she screamed.

With great strength from an adrenaline burst, she wriggled out from underneath Damien and crawled away, trying to scream for help. Damien responded in kind, lifting the screwdriver up high and thrusting it through the back of Maxine's right knee, forcing it through the front and shattering the bone. Once more she started to scream, but the pain was so intense she could not get out more than a choked groan.

As Damien quickly pulled the screwdriver out, he deftly thrust it three times into her back, twice puncturing through her front and out the ribcage. Although Maxine was aware of the pain, she wasn't aware of how bad the situation was, how fatal her injuries were. She could feel the fire in her chest, she could feel pressure building up (actually blood that had started to collect in her chest, pushing against her heart and filling up the one punctured lung). Coughing, she noticed the copious amount of blood that came flowing.

Ayane. Need to see Ayane. Pushing back, she weakly knocked Damien to the floor and did her best to crawl towards the infirmary. She was weak, not really using her leg and leaving a long trail of blood behind her as she went. She made it twenty feet across the ground, looking up to the building. She could see the figure on the roof carrying a weapon. Ayane!

She reached one hand up and smiled widely, mouthing "Ayane" even though no words and a large amount of blood actually came out. The smile stayed on her face as the rifle shot cracked, firing a round through her eye, blasting through the back of her head and lodging in her right thigh.

Maxine died thinking of the person who mattered most to her in the world, satisfied.

* * *

Standing on the roof, Brynn cocked the rifle's lever and smiled. One less problem. Maxine would have kept coming back, taking her out now would have saved a lot of problems down the line. Smiling once more, she thought pleasantly to herself, it's all good.

* * *

Damien took the fencing mask off as he sat near the forest's edge, smiling and satisfied beyond belief with himself. He knew where they were and didn't even have to try, talk about luck! Nah, the big guy's on your side. Now find A.J. and everything will work out just right... 

Let the games begin.


	20. Hour 15: 39 Contestants Remaining

Hour 15

39 Contestants Remaining

Pain. Darkness. Voices, far off, kind of in their own echo. A dull thunking sound. Everything is swirling. An explosion. Blood. Homer. A sawing sound, mechanical, buzzsaw? Not a chance, there's no buzzsaws in town.

Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, came into consciousness some thirteen hours after having been attacked and sedated by one Homer Brannick, deceased. He opened his eyes painfully, feeling the dull throb in his head as if it were wrapped tightly in cotton. Everything around him was white for some reason, but it was all pain. Opening his eyes wider, he groaned. Don't do that, pain is bad.

A face appeared before his eyes, familiar and at the same time very, very angelic. Blonde, slender but not bony, bright eyes behind a thin pair of glasses. The hair was a little tousled, but it only added to her beauty.

"You're awake," the angel mused.

"Am I in heaven?" he groaned.

"Nope, but you are in a meat locker!" she said cheerfully.

Carter allowed the strangeness of the comment to get to him, whereupon he immediately sat up. Almost as quickly, he began regretting it as ache rushed through his body.

"Hey, ease up," she said in her soothing voice, putting her hands on Carter's shoulders and pushing him softly back into the cot, "you've been beaten pretty good and you're not all there yet. Ease up."

Still a bit frightened, Carter looked about the room and adjusted his eyes. He recognized the face and the voice immediately. It was Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4.

To see her here was odd for Carter, since it did truly seem like a dream. In real life, luck was never this good. Luck didn't exist in real life, and here, here in the Battle Royale, one of the worst places on the planet to be, and here she was. Katherine Farraday, the most beautiful girl in school. Katherine Farraday, possibly the nicest person on the planet. Katherine Farraday... An age old crush. Out of everyone, not only in the Battle Royale, but in the graduating class of Braiwood High, they had known each other the longest. Fifteen years, nearly a lifetime, they'd known each other since nursery school (though Katherine herself could only remember him from the third grade on, Carter remembered it much more vividly; he always remembered his crushes). Carter had always been captivated by her beauty, even before her makeover in later times when she became popular. She had always been the cutest girl in school, and she had always been one to say hello to Carter in the halls, which of course would send his heart aflutter.

They'd never been the closest of people in the world, but there was always a friendly sort of bond going on. Katherine would always say hi, ask how his parents were and how he was doing, and being the smooth operator that he was, Carter would bumble through the answers in his muttering, poor fashion. Katherine always smiled nevertheless, because truth be told, Carter really was a nice guy. Always has been, always would be from everything she could tell.

As he sat up further, the throbbing in his head got sharper.

"What happened?" he asked groggily.

"Depends on how much you remember," Katherine responded with a caring smile.

He let a bruised hand go over the lumps on the back of his head and over the aches in his face.

"Not much. I remember the classroom," he paused, trying to get his bearings, "I remember... Nick and Tamyra. Mr. Rhodes... I remember the hallway, those guys with the shields and the batons."

Katherine shuddered internally. More than anything that had happened in the game thus far, more than the blood, more than the dying, it was the memory of the earliest moments in the game. The moments after that soldier with a rifle forced a bag into her hands and sent her running down the hall to the exit. It was quite possibly the most terrifying thing she'd ever known.

"Do you remember anything after that?"

"No," Carter admitted, "no I don't."

"Well, the best we can gather about what happened to you is this. Homer shot you with all these darts, then he either tripped or had you help him trip into the danger zone. Anyhow, he's dead now. He was the first."

"First?" Carter asked a bit incredulously, "Who else has died?"

"Six other people that we know of," Katherine said as she looked to her plastic pouch with map and student list, "not counting Nick and Tamyra I mean, Blake, he committed suicide, Brian, Peter, Geiger, Lisa and Sky. There might be some more though, we hear gunfire every so often and they haven't made any announcements in a while."

As Katherine continued on, Carter couldn't help but let the list register with him. Blake was a member of the SDS club, to which Carter was the vice president. He was a nice guy, very political and fiery when it came to debates, but well spoken and overall with a good heart. Geiger, well, he wasn't the brightest of guys in the world and it was true that sometimes he was a jerk, but he was funny and he had a kind heart when it came down to it.

Sky. Sky was the girl that a good portion of the male population of Braiwood High School had a crush on. She wasn't one of the drop dead gorgeous girls like the Brat packers, her beauty came from her purity and her natural appearance. There was always a wide and genuine smile crossing her face, one that was known to break many hearts.

Carter shuddered.

"Okay," Carter said, "how did I get here?"

"It was really lucky that we found you actually," Katherine said, brightening up considerably at the talk of pleasant issues, "Anna had been calling up the people she trusted, and you're on that short list. Anyhow, Ashley and Gus had been wandering around, found you, heard your phone ring and brought you over to join the rest of us. We're working on a way out."

"The rest of us?" Carter asked, "how many people are there?"

Katherine ran off in her mind who was where and doing what, "Anna and Jenny are kind of running the show at the moment, they've got a spot on top of the building here where they're mapping out the locations of cameras and other things like that. Doug's trying to figure out a way to get the belts off, he's working on, I think Brian's body to try and figure it out. Ashley and Paul are in the other room working out our weapons situation, and Francisco, Michael Baxter, Gus and Lexie are out scavenging for supplies. With you and me, that makes eleven."

"We're all getting out?"

"Yup," Katherine said cheerfully in a sense that got Carter to smile, god she's beautiful, "we've also got a line of communication open with the Brat Pack, so I think we might be able to get just about twenty people out of here."

"That's ambitious," Carter said as he thought things through, "that's Anna's plan, right?"

"Of course," Katherine said, "she brought us all together and she's really the one who's keeping us sane."

Achingly pulling the blanket from off his chest, Carter realized that he wasn't wearing anything. There was a smattering of purple and black splotches from his beating and they all ached fiercely, but not much in terms of clothes. In fact, it felt as if he was wearing nothing. Well, nothing aside from boxers and the belt he'd been forced to wear early in the game.

"Why am I..."

Katherine looked down and blushed, she could already finish the sentence easily.

"Naked? You were a mess, I mean, literally a mess. You were covered in blood and, well, lots of stuff was beyond repair. So, Ashley and I undressed you and washed you, and we're working on getting you new clothes. It was hard to do without moving that... metal belt too much, but we managed."

"You saw me?" Carter asked a bit embarrassed.

"Nope," she said in an oddly perky manner, "you kept your dignity, at least I didn't see anything."

She paused.

"Ashley might have sneaked a peek though," she said, which got Carter to blush even more. After a brief pause, they both started laughing, getting the situation to be nowhere near as awkward as it was before. Sitting there in silence, they looked into each others eyes and smiled, trying to figure out something to say.

"What am I going to do for clothes?" Carter asked.

"Oh," Katherine said a bit flustered, "they've gathered some things around. Gus had an extra tank top in his pack that should fit you pretty close and we found an extra pair of pants in one of the barracks. They're old and pretty grungy, but they're still in one piece. You don't mind using a piece of rope for a belt, do you?"

Carter smiled, "I can manage."

"Well good!" Katherine said enthusiastically.

As another pause went through the room, the two sat looking at each other. Carter once more decided to break the silence by swinging his legs off of the cot and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and upper body. He winced in pain as he felt his wounds, and Katherine immediately came over.

"Hey, hey, hold up, you've been out for a while and you're still not a hundred percent."

"Well..." Carter said as he finally noticed the pain in his mouth. He ran his tongue over his teeth, all still there, though they did hurt like a son of a bitch.

"If we're working on an escape plan," Carter said, "and if Anna's the one heading it up, I'd like to be able to offer my hands. I know I've got some skills and I want to be able to lend you all whatever help I can. Now, where's my clothes and shoes?"

Katherine sighed and obligingly handed over his new pile of clothes, neatly folded. She didn't know Carter well, but the Carter she did know was a shy guy. He was big in size, but he was shy, always soft spoken and more often than not found sitting in the corner of a room with a book. The take-charge attitude and urge to help was something she was not used to, and it was something that she liked a bit in the back of her mind.

Carter gingerly stepped into the pants as Katherine offered them. They were very old, scratchy and not the most comfortable, but they'd do. The length of rope made a half-decent belt once he double-tied the knot. As for the tank top... It fit a bit too well, and Carter cursed himself for the years of Hostess snacks and McDonald's. Gus was a big guy, but so was Carter, and the tank top wasn't all that flattering to the bit of a belly that he had. As he pulled on his socks and shoes (there were still some blood stains, but they weren't all that bad) a thought struck Carter.

"Do you have my pack?"

"Yeah," Katherine said motioning towards a haphazard stack of backpacks over on one side of the room, "it's in the pile over there."

As he got up, Carter wandered over and rooted through the packs, eventually finding his own. Perfect, everything was still intact. As it was, lots of people had packed extra stashes of clothing, jackets and swim suits for their grad night as they were to head to the beach. Carter was just glad he stashed what he did. He was first glad to pull out the pine-green windbreaker that had seen him through many a rainy day, and then his lucky hat. It was a floppy beige hat that he'd owned as long as he knew, and was still amazed that it fit that well. It suited his personal style and kept the sun off his neck quite nicely.

Though by now Carter was laughing at the irony of the situation. He pulled the hat on over his head and sidled on over to Katherine.

"Ready to go out on the town?" he asked jokingly.

"Sure, why not," she said as she moved on over to the door of the meat locker.

"One thing though," Katherine added, "don't talk about escape or anything like that unless we can afford to outside the locker. The walls are thick enough here that they can't hear a word of what we're saying, but out there, just play along, okay?"

"No prob," Carter said, "let's do this thing."

He swung the door open.

* * *

He had heard the booming twin shots of the shotgun not but a couple hours ago and immediately saw her face. Her hair splayed out on the ground, the shotgun blasts having torn her apart and spraying her blood all over the ground. Lexie, blown apart, with the one evil eye bulging out and sticking through. 

Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15 finally made it to the spot where the thundering shots were fired off. He had left the good graces of his two friends, Jackson and Eliza not too long ago and already he was starting to miss them. They didn't stand a chance, he knew it. Jackson and Eliza were good people, but good people didn't mean jack in Battle Royale. Neither was a fighter in any sense of the word. Jackson, scrawny and wiry Jackson, was always stoned. He would be smoking weed until his last moments, at least when he's not screwing around with Eliza. He was still a fun guy, but very, very paranoid.

Eliza... She maybe stood a chance. The girl had an odd style of clothing, often dressing strangely for the fun of it, but she had spirit. She was an artist and a damned good guitar player, but she knew how to defend herself, at least with her words. Once, while being mugged she had successfully talked the mugger out of the crime and sent him on his way with twenty dollars. That was just her way, quirky and fun yet still with the preservation of life and health in mind. Nevertheless, Matt doubted their chances

Then again, he probably stood less of a chance by running around and looking for a girl who was more than likely hiding out. He had a small arsenal, consisting of a Walther PPK (James Bond's gun as it turned out, one of the few things Matt happened to find cool out of the situation), two Molotov cocktails supplied by Jackson and Eliza, and his skateboard/bungee cord mace. Sure, it didn't look like much, but he had practiced swinging it around once and took out a chunk from a tree the size of a Frisbee. He was pleased, at least in the self defense realm.

As it was, Matt didn't want to kill anyone. Hell, he was debating whether or not he could hurt someone if he tried. That situation would have had to come up before he could really think about what he'd really do.

He sighed. Lexie kept him focused. If he kept thinking about her, at least there was some hope. Well, at least hope that he wouldn't go absolutely insane.

Most people would ask why in the hell he had been focused on Lexie. Truth be told, there were a lot of girls in Braiwood High School who were much prettier, and since Matt wasn't particularly unattractive (he had scars and old breaks all over his body, though that did help add to his mystique and bad boy persona which really did help). Katherine, she was definitely pretty and was Matt's type, but she was a little too high up the ladder for him to want to commiserate with. Maxine was gorgeous, but she was a lesbian. And dead, that was a big problem. Ayane, Brynn, Dora, Serenity? They were all attractive, but were stuck up bitches with boyfriends. Well, not Dora. Dora was the nice and she was pretty, and she wore less makeup than the rest. Odd as it was, the pair of them became quite good friends. He still found it crazy.

He probably could have gone out with Dora easily if he just had the urge to ask, and people had probably thought that there was something between them, but there wasn't. Lexie was the apple of Matt's eye, she was the one he wanted to be with more than anyone else.

Lexie... So many people thought she was gay. Sure, she did look a little butch. She was strong, she was tattooed and had a pierced nose. She wasn't as traditionally beautiful as her sister, Sky, but that didn't get Matt's attention.

The girly girls weren't exactly Matt's style, which created a good amount of Lexie's appeal. She was on the softball team, giving her strong arms and legs, and like Matt was a fellow skater. At least, she used to be into the boards, but with the recent popularity of Razor scooters she had become a convert of sorts. It didn't stop her from hanging out with the crowd though, she had the tattoos, she had the piercings, she had the scars from falls that acted as badges of honor. She could brawl and curse like any of the guys around, which had always gotten Matt's attention.

Alongside the toughness of her though, there was her feminine side which always shown through. She had heart, and she was much more graceful than she let on. Although Matt was never really articulate enough to express all these feelings in words, they were as true as ever.

So, in short, he was head over heels in love with Lexie Hawk, he couldn't help it. Sometimes in life things just hit you like a train. Then again, a lot of respectable people have been hit by trains.

Matt could smell the bodies before he could see them. It was a rotten and ugly smell, making his stomach want to do cartwheels. Not like there was anything he could do about it at least, but at the very least he had to confirm who had fallen. Anyone but Lexie, and he'd breath a sigh of relief. He couldn't throw up, not again...

The buzzing caught his attention. It was an ugly sound to go with an ugly smell. Perfect, just perfect. All he had to do was follow the buzzing as it got louder and louder, and soon enough he could see it.

Carnage. Overwhelming carnage.

Blood drenched the ground in the immediate vicinity, and there were three indistinguishable masses on the ground that were covered with flies and vultures. The birds ripped away ragged chunks of flesh from the gore that covered the ground. Some even jumped around on the bodies, biting into the flesh and wrenching their necks around, tearing more meat as they ate.

Thoroughly repulsed, but with a mission that needed to be finished, he looked on with disgust. He couldn't define who was who and what was what. Reaching into his belt, he pulled out Eliza's gun and aimed it weakly into the air. He pulled the trigger, creating a loud boom as the gun fired off a shot and bucked heavily in his hand. Almost immediately, the birds scrambled and flew away, giving him time to look at the bodies.

The first one was easy to identify, male, brown hair and vacant eyes (though the vultures had been feasting on his face, which was really unappealing in Matt's eyes). The cause of death as he remembered over the announcements made that selection easy, Homer.

Wonder if Carter did it on purpose. He could have, there's lots of bad blood between the two of them, well, more on Homer's side at least. Carter could never carry a grudge, and really, he couldn't hurt anyone if he tried. Homer must have attacked him, Carter fought back and pushed him into the danger zone.

Yes... Matt looked to his side, where their entrance bunker was clearly visible. Stay away.

Well, the two halves of Homer aside, Matt looked at the third mound, using his skateboard to wave the flies away. Fuckin bugs, ain't got no respect for the dead. Well, it's tropical and hotter than hell, what are ya gonna do, yell at them?

The third mound was female, and instantly Matt's heart leaped. It was headless, the its skull having been either torn away or pulverized completely by the looks of things. All Matt knew was that there was a pile of ground beef sprayed throughout the bushes behind the headless corpse, and that it was a fragrant mess.

No, it wasn't her. Skin was too pale, Lexie had a darker tone of skin that was thanks to her Native American heritage (and was really one of the few things that Lexie was very proud of, she could get a tan that kicked everyone else's asses). Looking among the pile of flesh that used to be the female's head, Matt sighed. It was blonde, a mess of straight blonde hair still attached to chunks of skull in the bushes. In some odd sense, he was relieved.

Lexie was still alive. At least, he hoped so.

Now, of the many things in the world that Matt had learned through being a skater, the ability to judge spatial relationships and moving objects was one of the one's that Matt most valued in saving his life time in and out. His reflexes when taking a fall were good enough that he could usually tuck and roll out of a fall, or at the very least he could brace for a fall and not kill himself. It was a sixth sense of sorts, almost, but it was good at keeping Matt alive.

So, he didn't find it odd when the back of his mind started screaming at him, telling him to duck. He did.

And the scythe missed his head by a few inches, slicing through air before it was brought up again. Matt whirled around and rolled on the ground, getting a few feet between him and Katie Snyder, a.k.a. Girl # 2. She wielded a scythe in her hands, while the AK-47 slung over her shoulder was none too encouraging. With her gray vest, the crazed look in her eyes and the scythe, she looked like Death on crack.

She lifted the weapon high with a strange smile on her face and swiped the weapon downwards. Falling on his rear, Matt crawled back quickly enough for the tip of the blade to land in the ground between his legs, mere inches from Bobbitizing him. He put a quick note in his mind to thank God later for that one.

She pulled the blade from the ground and lifted it high once more, and once again Matt was quick enough to react, lifting his skateboard with both hands and holding it to make contact with the blade. The scythe cut into the center of the skateboard, lodging a few inches in but otherwise not budging. Katie looked oddly at it, and Matt quickly made his move, kicking her in the stomach and sending her sprawling to the ground. In one quick move, he stood up, pulled the gun from his belt and fired three shots quickly into Katie's belly.

BOOM BOOM BOOM, and it was over. The surprised look on Katie's face turned to a pained one, and he watched as the life drained from her face as she collapsed to the floor.

Holy crap, he killed her. That was murder, she's dead.

Matt tried to shake the thought from his head as he stepped on the staff of the scythe, pulling it from his skateboard. At that point, he just ran. He had to get as far away from her as possible. There would be others; others attracted to the sound of gunfire like Katie undoubtedly had been. He had to be more careful next time, the gun was not a toy.

Sprinting through the jungle, Matt realized that the situation was reasonably hopeless, though he was not one to give up. You're on an island surrounded by people carrying guns, knives, bombs and sharp sticks, looking for one girl who could easily kill you.

Perfect baby, perfect.

* * *

Katie Snyder let out a few garbled gasps as she settled against the ground, letting the full impact of the bullets go through her body. They hurt, and they hurt bad. 

She had failed, failed in her quest. Failure is not an option, and there would be no failure next time. Then again, the pain of the bullets impacting against her stomach made her realize that there would be no next time. This would be the end...

...for any lesser person. She was glad that he had come and intervened, allowing for her survival. For killing Geiger, Katie had won an online poll that allowed her a weapon of sorts to ensure survival. The lethal were rewarded for their actions, and Katie could see it as nothing less than divine intervention.

He had given her a prize, a way to stay alive.

He had given her a bulletproof vest, and Katie could only smile. The bruising would hurt, but she would live.

She stood up, cradling the scythe in her hands as she slung the AK-47 over her shoulder once more. She had lost Matt, he was too fast, but there wouldn't be many Matt's out there. No, there would be slower people, less righteous people, less... lucky people.

Katie smiled, and all was well.

* * *

"Hey, sleeping beauty!" Ashley said in a friendly manner as Carter walked her way with Katherine in tow. He still fumbled around a bit, not quite walking steady, but he was more than accommodating when it came to hugging Ashley. She easily made the short list of people he'd consider a best friend. 

"How the hell are ya?" Ashley asked.

"How do I look?" Carter asked.

"Like you got hit by a Mack truck," Ashley responded.

"That bad?" he replied.

"You seen me worse before, but, yeah, that bad," Ashley replied with a wry grin.

Carter then looked to the table that Ashley was working at. There was a pistol, some grenades, a tire iron, a baseball bat, a few old and rusted meat hooks and a lot of empty bottles near a large can of gasoline. Next to those was their workshop, where a chainsaw had obviously been used to saw off the stock and most of the barrel of a double-barreled shotgun. The long scattergun had been transformed into a foot and a half long close-range destroyer.

"You got quite a setup here," Carter said, a bit impressed.

"Yeah, we've got an arsenal. Anyone tries to get to us is gonna have to take it the hard way, we've got this shotgun, two pistols, a dart gun, clubs of all sorts up the wazoo, grenades, knives, sharp sticks. And that's just what we've got supplied, seriously, if you look around this place you can find all sorts of great stuff. We got pieces of rebar by the door over there, make some great spears, meat hooks from the freezer, and we're gonna be making some Molotov cocktails on the table once all's said and done with the sawed-off here."

Carter was very impressed, if a bit freaked by the enthusiasm that Ashley had. She was talking rapidly, forcing a smile as if she didn't want to have the smile and the confidence. She was scared, and Carter could tell it. She had killed two people, Peter and Lisa, and it looked to Carter like it had just caught up with her.

"So, any poor bastard tries to make a run on this place is really going to wish his mama never met his pop."

Carter smiled, doing his best to help Ashley, "Looks like you're prepared for war."

"We ARE in a war hon'," Ashley said bluntly but with a bit of warmth, "don't be forgetting that."

Carter smiled even wider. He did like Ashley, always had. There was always a good kinship (and even a bit of flirtation from time to time) between them, and they had worked well on school projects before when under pressure. He was glad to be on her side during the Battle Royale.

His gaze soon shifted to her work partner who had been at the table and stared at him the whole conversation in silence.

Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12, was a bit strange by most definitions. He was a good guy, very funny, not exactly someone Carter knew he could trust, but one hell of a source of any and all information relating to movies, ESPECIALLY horror movies. It didn't take many guesses to figure out that the chainsaw was his.

Still, he was a little odd by most any definition, and the fact that he just stood staring at Carter during his entire conversation with Ashley didn't seem to help.

Then he spoke up.

"Imagine the story of the two-headed schizophrenic," Paul said, "one head thought the other was following it, so he shot it and killed himself."

The pause that followed in the room was almost deafening.

"No sense of humor," he muttered before wandering off to another corner, much bewildering the rest.

"Come on," Katherine said pulling on Carter's arm (and getting his attention with the skin against skin contact, it was a new sensation for him), "Anna wants to talk with you."

She led him around to the rear exit of the building, where they had propped a ladder against the outer wall. Katherine motioned Carter to go up top, and as he climbed the ladder he noticed that she wasn't following.

"You coming?"

"Later," she said with maybe a little bit of jealousy, "Anna wants to talk to you in private."

Carter nodded and climbed to the top of the ladder, winding up on top of the mess hall's roof. He walked across old ventilation ducts and ceiling fans, bounding around an old air conditioning unit. He could hear their voices, Anna in particular very clearly.

"-this isn't the Republicans versus the Democrats, where we're in a hole economically or... or we're in another war. This is more crucial than that. This is down to the line Jenny, this is down to the line. There can be no more divisions among the living!"

Anna, once more was pontificating in front of a friend, and Carter could only smile. Predictable as ever. Walking around the unit, Carter could indeed see that Anna was talking to Jenny, but they were sitting on the ground. All over the black tar of the roof there were words, entire conversations written in silver magic marker. Words of revolution, plans to get out.

Camera's.

Escape by sea.

All of us out.

SABRE.

Hundreds of words were written out, and Carter knew instantly. They were faking conversations, making up words to go with the real conversations they were writing out on the surface. Brilliant.

"Hey ladies," Carter said in an effort to break up the others.

"Hey Carter," Anna said absentmindedly. Jenny immediately got up, nodding to Carter and walking away with a purpose. She knew what was going on.

"Come on, sit down, come join me on my perch," Anna said with a smile, putting a finger to her lips to indicate silence.

"So, Carter," she said, "I'm looking to raise something of an army here, we've already got eleven and we have the goods to take on the rest."

She wrote on the ground, WE ARE GETTING OUT, MORE LATER, BUT THIS WILL WORK.

Carter mouthed, HOW?

"I know you're a reliable guy," Anna said as she wrote on the ground, BOAT, MORE WHEN WE CAN TALK IN FREEZER, "And you've been a good VP for the club. I was wondering if you'd be my right hand here, since I can really use one."

WE R MAPPING CAMERAS NOW, Anna wrote, FINDING BLIND SPOTS, MAINTENANCE ROOTS, ETC. BREAK 1, GROUP COMES RUNNING, WE GRAB BOAT WHEN THEY NOT LOOKING.

"I think I could manage," Carter said, pointing at his belt with a puzzled look on his face, "so long as it doesn't involve heavy lifting."

Anna smiled, glad that Carter was perceptive as ever. It's part of what made her want Carter at her side. That part of the speech was no bull, Carter had a good head on his shoulders and she was glad to put it to use.

DOUG WORKIN ON IT NOW, GOT BODIES W/ BELTS, HE CAN FIGURE OUT TO TAKE THEM OFF

"So, are you in or are you out?" Anna asked conspiratorially.

Carter raised an eyebrow with a grin. He had gone from zero to the top of the totem in a manner of an hour, and he was glad to have a fighting chance. They could get out, this was more than he could have ever hoped for.

"I'm in."


	21. Hour 16: 39 Contestants Remaining

Hour 16

39 Contestants Remaining

There are many different kinds of pride. There are the vain, those who value appearance over all else, especially their own. They primp and preen in front of mirrors day in and day out, worshipping themselves on the reflective alter. Then there are those who see themselves as God's gift to the opposite sex. They're the ones who are wanted and lusted after by all, and of those huddled masses, only they get to choose. Among an even more select few, there are those who truly believe themselves to be God. They beg for worship among all and have lists of conquests several miles long.

They all of course paled in comparison to the person the Battle Royale community knew as Boy # 8, his mom knew as Luke Wesson, and everyone else knew as The Naughty Hottie.

At least in his own mind.

But no, it was a general consensus. It had to be. He knew it and he heard it all the time, because no one, not anyone messed with The Naughty Hottie. He was a pretty boy to the greatest degree, never wanting to mess his hair or anything else up on his perfect face or body. He would spend hours out of the day in front of a mirror, primping and preening and pumping almost as much makeup and hair products into his face as any of the school's more image-conscious girls.

Truth be told, he was really as vain as it got. He may have been one of the bitchier students in the school, but no one was willing to argue. No one messed with him, ever. Not since the time in second grade he cut one of his best friend's hair off in the middle of class, faked up some tears and blamed it on another kid for his own amusement. The other kid got in trouble and was more or less shunned for the rest of their time through the Braiwood school system. Sure, they did eventually wind up locking themselves in a garage with the car running, but that's their own problem, right? Not like it was Luke's problem.

Since then he had been told time in and time out by his parents that he was a good-looking kid, and he was more than one to capitalize on the matter. He had the money to dress in the good clothes, get his hair done right, and even get a floor length mirror he could look himself up and down with. They say masturbation is the perfect act of self-indulgence. Luke knew better of course.

Sex. Anyway and anyhow, Luke was into sex. He had sex appeal and he knew he could get it however he pleased. Boys, girls, he could and would get together with any of them that he pleased. He could seduce and he could overpower and he could torment, and he loved it. He was even hot enough to make a living as a dancer in a go-go cage at a local gay bar, it worked out and it paid well.

True, he had plowed through many of the girls and even a few of the boys of Braiwood High School; monogamy was never his thing. He did have a friend with benefits, Michelle Christopher, she would take care of him and satisfy those needs when the well was dry. They made up a trio with Lizzy Jones that Luke had always jokingly dubbed The Angels. They were a force to be reckoned with, and they always satisfied each others needs when they needed to.

'course there was the time that Michelle got the clap and then gave it to Luke, whereupon he spread it to a few other girls in school, but that was an occupational hazard. Just get the shot and it clears itself right up, god love STD's for being so damn predictable and easy to take care of. Hell, he'd taken Lizzy in for, what, three abortions already? Worst case scenario it was the best damn birth control around, one hundred percent effective every time.

Of course, there was Lara. Lara Drake, Girl # 24 in the Battle Royale, was considered by many to be this tiny little doe, maybe even a prude. Sure, she had her fun on the school newspaper, but no one else really seemed to give a damn about her. It was widely reputed that she was a good Christian girl and would never, ever have sex until she was married. Always one for a challenge, Luke adapted himself to the part, turning on the nice and sensitive charm. He had money going on the fact that he could deflower her by grad night, which of course would have happened. It was going to be perfect, it was going to be beautiful, and he would have had the crowning achievement on his long list of conquests before going to college.

Dumping her the next day would have been easy too, but Battle Royale had to come in and interrupt things. Fucking government, couldn't they wait just one more night? One more night? They couldn't just wait until the final name on the list was achieved, then start the things, but nooooo, no, Luke wouldn't be allowed to have the pleasure of knowing he was truly the sex god of Braiwood High. Then again, she did find out about Lori just two days prior. _God damn it Lara, you could've waited too. You could've waited and I could've made a hundred bucks. Bitch._

But at the moment, more than anything else, Luke knew that he had to get going. He was currently residing in one of the abandoned barracks, basically a row of old rotted and rusty cots with dirt and leaves smeared all around the room. His weapon that he had been assigned was a computer keyboard. Ugh. Couldn't they give a halfway decent weapon, you know, one that could be used to actually kill people? Luke didn't even really want to go on a spree like the rest of his classmates were sure to do, that was just dirty and vulgar and... Ugh.

So, carrying his backpack, he exited the barracks and started wandering around in the forest cautiously. The sun was moving across the sky slowly, creating a pleasant and peaceful dappled pattern of the leaves on his skin as the light filtered through. He hated outside and he hated trees even more, but even he could admit that it was peaceful and pleasant. He had walked into a small clearing of sorts, hearing a babbling creek off somewhere in the distance. If only he had a picnic blanket and some guy to screw, this day would be perfect. No, not perfect, completely and utterly sublime.

A female voice sent Luke whirling around on his feet.

"Oh my God, Luke? Is that you?"

As he turned, he could see who it belonged to. Girl # 1, Lori Nicotero stood by with fear in her eyes. Going through the regular rounds, Luke looked her up and down and did a quick assessment. She still had a great ass, massive rack accentuated nicely by her halter-top. Belly firm yet soft. Black hair, Luke had a thing for blonde's but it worked for Lori. Nice, pouty lips. She was burned on one side though, streaks of black and brown on her side. Yuck. She's still doable though. She didn't have a pack though. Strange.

"I am so glad to see you!" she said as she ran over and hugged him deeply, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Ummm, you too," Luke said slightly confused.

"I've been running around here all on my own, someone attacked me, I've been so scared," she said as she sobbed, pulling him in closer and crushing her breasts against his chest. Luke was one to notice this, and despite her burns, she still was hot. Always had been, always would be. He slept with her a while back after he connected with Lara, and all the hype was true. She was a great lay.

"I'm here," Luke said as he feigned sympathy, "I'm here."

"I've just been so lonely," she said with fear, but changing her voice enough that Luke could tell her intention was different.

"You have?"

"Yeah," Lori said through tear-streaked eyes as she looked at Luke, "I came to Grad Nite here, and I was hoping, hoping, hoping more than anything else just to be with somebody, to be close, you know. I mean, I just wanted one good fuck for the night and then all this happened."

"Yeah," Luke said, having had a list of his own that he really wanted to have worked through that night, "I understand you. I thought I'd have gotten some myself by now."

Through her tears, Lori strained to force a smile.

"Well," Lori said with a slightly evil grin, "we are here now. Think you might wanna..."

She moved in for a kiss, locking her lips around Luke's with some energy. He was taken aback, but her logic was undeniable. He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She kissed back with more energy, pushing her tongue deeply into his mouth and groaning a bit.

Pushing back, she pulled off her halter-top and stood bare from the waist up before him. She forced her smile again, trying to be comfortable, and being a male, Luke responded with a smile, rushing forward and grabbing the twin orbs. He was rough and nowhere near as smooth as he thought he was, but she moaned anyway. She didn't want him thinking that there was anything wrong. Nope, not one bit.

She then pulled his pack off his shoulders, dropping it to the floor. After that, his shirt was soon on the ground. Lori wrapped herself around him again and entwined their bodies. They were close and hot, running up against each other, breathing hard, kissing with the sounds of making out loud and clear. A bird cawed in the background, but neither of the two seemed to notice as they were entwined, kissing each other deeply.

Luke himself was on cloud nine. It was a fucked up place to be, but at least he had the chance to get it on before anything could happen. He would have sex, and sex with one of the best. Who could ask for anything more really?

She kneeled down before him and started to unbuckle the belt of his pants, pulling it to the side and unzipping his fly. She was even kind enough to mind the explosive belt and avoid it enough so that he wouldn't explode.

Oh god, Luke thought, am I dreaming? Seriously, could I really be this fucking lucky? She looked up at him with a smile, feeling between his legs and to that one sensitive spot. Luke groaned, on cloud nine. All logic left him as the siren wrapped her hand around him.

She smiled up again, looking happy yet desperate. Even as he looked down, Luke could tell that something was not right. He couldn't quite gauge the situation, but no, it wasn't right.

With another smile, Lori looked behind Luke and quickly withdrew her hands.

"Now!" she yelled.

Luke didn't have time to react as he felt something enter the back of his pants, hearing a click followed by blinding pain in his waist and crotch. Luke screamed as he fell to the ground, feeling as if everything were on fire, and indeed, it was. He whirled around, seeing Lara Drake, a.k.a. Girl # 24, a.k.a. his "girlfriend" holding a flare gun and standing by with an evil smile. He looked down as sparks were shooting out from his pants with blinding pain, causing him to scream further with tears coming from his eyes.

Seconds later, the flare exploded in a blast of white phosphorous and magnesium, creating a heat that was capable of burning through tile, in his underpants. Gone was much of the flesh in his inner thighs, as well as the entirety of his genitals he had made a living with. The explosion shook its way through Luke's body and caused him to shudder, screaming wildly as his skin and pants were thoroughly on fire.

Lori and Lara stood by smiling, enjoying every minute of their infector's demise. Lara held her flare gun in hand, twirling it around and giggling almost uncontrollably while Lori stood by still topless, holding her fire ax that Lara had held onto not but a moment before.

In excruciating pain and already succumbing some to shock, Luke kept hitting his legs and stomach, trying to put out the fire and not pay attention to the fact that everything between his legs was missing. He was on fire though and that hurt even more than the loss of his pride and joy, and he focused solely on putting it out; putting out the pain. Put out the fire, put out the pain, that was what he repeated. At that, he ran off looking to get away from the two crazy bitches.

There was another explosion of bright white light off to his left, exploding against a tree as Lara fired off another shot from the flare gun and missed.

"Damn, need to reload!" Luke could hear Lara say.

"I got it!" Lori responded.

Luke could hear it. Water, running water. Water from a stream. God, thank you. He could see it, a stream about twenty feet wide and no more than a foot deep, but that was all he needed. He ran and jumped into the stream, putting out the flames with shocking cold and once more jolting his body back into reality. It felt as if all the flesh that had been burned was now being torn away in strips and was being pushed through a meat grinder. He could smile briefly though, the fire was out, the burning was gone. Now though... He lost his dick. God it hurt.

Rolling onto his back, now thoroughly in shock, Luke sputtered some water out of his mouth and got up onto his knees in the river.

Lori was by now sprinting his way, holding her fire ax high like some strange and horrible topless dancer killer. He held up his hand as she came closer.

"Wait! Wait!" Luke shrieked quickly, to no avail. Lori struck with the ax, splitting his hand in half and breaking his arm with the force. As he screamed, she brought down the ax again, severing his arm at the elbow in a clean fashion. He fell down in the stream, trying to crawl away with his one arm and legs pushing against the silt in the bottom of the river. She struck him in the back, spraying blood out all over her as she held the ax and waded in the stream.

Still, Luke moved. His spine was shattered, one lung punctured and choking on a mixture of blood and water from the stream, but he was alive.

Lara soon sidled on up, holding the flare gun and pushing it down the front of her pants.

"Wait, please," she said as she took the ax.

Lara held the tool in both hands, looking down on the pitiful mess that was her now ex-boyfriend Luke Wesson. He had used the last of his strength to roll over onto his back, looking up with sad eyes that had gotten him out of many a speeding ticket with female officers. Luke looked up pleadingly, trying to form words with his mouth but failing dismally, instead coughing up blood as it trickled down his mouth.

She rotated the ax around in her hands, bringing them close together and swinging it down repeatedly, smashing into his chest, head, arms, legs, anything she could hit. Blood, chunks of Luke and water sprayed up, gushing over her and Lori as she stood by solemnly. After a minute of axing her boyfriend, she stopped and sighed, breathing heavily and coughing. Using what she brought up, she spat on Luke's corpse. There was a moment of silence between the two women as Lara handed the weapon back. Lori looked at Lara, seeing a girl who looked to be rather quite mad at the moment, drenched in blood that was literally dripping down her face. Lara looked to Lori, seeing one of the school's biggest sex goddesses nearly naked and covered in the same blood that was dripping down her own body.

They were a mess.

"Let's go upstream so we can wash up some," Lara said as she went back to retrieve her backpack from the clearing. She plodded through the stream and walked back to where they had first encountered look. Lori still looked onto Luke's corpse, a little bit frightened, but really not sure what the hell was going on. They had been hunting him all day since they had met each other earlier, waiting for the right time and moment to strike. They had both talked giddily about murdering Luke for infecting them, messing him up real good. They talked and giggled like girls at a slumber party at the time, and now that it happened... She shuddered.

She could see the blood from his body flowing out, going downstream in streaks as his heart stopped pumping. A fish in the water swam by and jumped onto Luke's body, flopping about before plopping back into the water. She shuddered again.

Suddenly Lori wasn't as hopeful as she used to be about her chances for survival.


	22. Hour 17: 38 Contestants Remaining

Hour 17

38 Contestants Remaining

Doug Rodgers, a.k.a. Boy # 2 wiped sweat from his brow as he worked on the operation. The electronics were complicated, his tools few and primitive at best. In short, the conditions were horrid. It wasn't hard for Doug to notice that he was working 21st century technology with almost Stone Age tools.

In a dingy back room of the mess hall, Doug worked over the body of Brian (well, the half of it with his belt anyway), dead for some time and smelling greatly of it. Using Ashley's pocket knife and the screwdriver from Michael's Swiss-army-knife key chain, he had worked at removing a couple panels on the belt and working to not detonate it. The room was dark, the setting sun on the opposite side of the building and letting only limited light in. Francisco Marquez, a.k.a. Boy # 22 and Michael Baxter, a.k.a. Boy # 21, stood by with flashlights and helped Doug as he needed it, though mostly spent their time trying to ignore the ragged half of a boy they saw before them.

"I tell ya, these guys really know their shit," Doug said, "there's backup systems up the wazoo here. And then there's backup systems for those backup systems, and backup systems on top of those. There's maybe three separate power sources here, and about four separate detonators that I can tell, radio, pressure, one on a timer and one that even I have no frickin clue about."

"What's all that mean?" Francisco asked.

"It means I've got my work cut out for me today," Doug said as he smiled and put more work into removing the belt.

"As far as we know, the explosives could be deactivated once a person's life signs stop," Doug continued, "since these things are supposed to be a monitor of our pulse, respiration and the like, it might shut down when the person dies. And that my friends is what we call a bad thing."

"Why's that?" Francisco asked again, ever the voice of curiosity.

"If it shuts down when a person dies, then what I'm doing here is completely useless and we're wasting valuable hours in doing it. However, I'm holding out hope, since the lights are still on on this thing. It means there's still a current in there somewhere, and if we work it out, I think I can work through one of the release systems."

"Cool," Francisco responded, while Michael simply looked on silently with his flashlight. He would have normally complained about the conditions, but for the moment he was feeling rather squeamish at the sight of Brian's body. _Paul really went hog-wild on this guy, yeesh._

Doug on the other hand was focused to a point where he almost didn't know he was working with a dead body. To say the least, the boy was in his element. Computers and electronics were his element, his life, his way of survival and what gave him purpose. If given an appliance of any sorts, he could figure out how it worked in a manner of minutes simply by touching it. He could take apart and put anything back together in no time flat, working and often for the better afterwards. In many a way he was a technical prodigy, which he would loudly and proudly proclaim to absolutely anyone who would listen.

I am invincible! He would say it whenever success shined on him. Some had their "Eureka" or their "Woohoo," but Doug was different. He was calm, confident, and in way over his head. Oddly enough though, that was the way he liked it.

He was sixteen, even he knew that by all rights he shouldn't be here. He couldn't help being a genius, which at this point looked like it was going to be his main downfall. By all rights he should still be a sophomore, but no, he was smart, he _had_ to skip ahead two grades. He _had_ to have the perfect SAT's and the full scholarship to MIT. Long story short, he was a nerd, and usually damn proud of it. _Christ, if you hadn't have skipped those grades you wouldn't be here, where's the pride in that?_

What irked him the most was the fact that not only was he a nerd, but he had to be the prototypical nerd to boot. He was smart, he wore thick glasses, suffered from asthma and dandruff. He couldn't help the fact that he loved Star Trek and Dungeons and Dragons. He was the perfect nerd stereotype, and had the beatings to prove it.

Right now he could have seriously laughed at the situation if it weren't so serious. He was a nerd, but he was in his element. He could work the technology, maybe with a bit more luck work the system and tear this whole fucking program a new one. Anna was a perfect leader and figurehead, and Doug was glad to be on her side. Better than being in her way at least. Normally he would be the guy that everyone in school would work hard to avoid. Like, oh, it's that guy, he isn't good enough to be with us, oh wait, he has the answers to the test, Hi Doug!

Doug was glad to have none of those people among the number of SABRE. True, he wasn't glad that they were all dying outside elsewhere on the island, shot, bloodied, hacked apart, but they were doing their best to live. He was with people now he could relate to. They were a broad cross-section of the school, ranking from some of its highest members on the totem pole, to others on the bottom.

Anna, the ice queen, the class president he could respect. She was an icy bitch a lot of the time, but she knew what she was doing and she knew how to lead. Her court jester Jenny was easy on the eyes, if not the brightest, but she did seem to come out of the fugue that she had been in earlier and was now a very productive member of the group when it came down to it. Damn strong too, easily as athletic as Anna.

Paul was a goof off and irritating at times, but he knew what he was doing and wanted to help. Definite team player. Same as Michael, the scrawny gay guy. He meant well, but didn't have the will or the body to get things done. Carter was a good guy with a not so hidden crush on Katherine, who was pretty hot and as nice as they came.

Francisco, Frank The Tank, he was the one that Doug was most glad to have on his side after Anna. As things were, Francisco was a giant with a kind nature, something of an odd combination when it came down to it, but he was the guy who was nice to even the littlest of people. One time back in freshman year when Joel Giovanello had been picking on Doug (he was even smaller then, which considering Doug was hard to believe but true), Francisco stepped in the way and floored Joel. Big guy, tough athlete Joel was taken down and had a split lip, the scar of which existed to this day. Doug had forever been indebted to Francisco for it, and since then they had been solid friends.

It was an odd sort of symbiotic relationship, Doug would help Francisco with his studies while Francisco would keep the bigger kids from beating the crap out of Doug, but in the long run both parties did wind up benefiting from the transaction.

"I need some more light," Doug said as he wiped more sweat from his brow with his shoulder. He had just disconnected what he thought was one of the detonators, and all that stood in the way were a few simple wires. One cut to them all would sever the power source, and should ideally make the belt fall off.

Well, at least that's what he hoped.

As the light adjusted, Doug could see the three bundles of wires. _Damn it, no red wire or blue wire? This is never like the movies; bastards made them all white!_

Hesitating in selection, Doug simply flipped out the tiny Swiss Army Knife's scissors, and put their blades around all three bundles.

"All right guys," he said, "here goes nothing."

Pressing down on the scissors' lever, he sheered through all of them with the help of a continuous sawing action.

For some damn reason, nothing happened.

"Well shit," Doug said.

It was then that the belt started to light up. First a small red light on the side, then a bank of green LED's along the bottom. At that, it started a rhythm of loud beeps, increasing in volume and intensity in a steadily increasing pattern.

"What's that?" Michael asked, having been totally unconscious to what happened to Nick earlier.

"Ummm…" Doug said as its speed increased, "RUN!"

The three men standing around the corpse of Brian (well, what was left of it at least) jumped out of the way and rolled across the room as its explosives detonated, tearing it in half and spraying gore and grue every which way.

On his back with his ears ringing from the blast and face covered with some of Brian (luckily he'd been dead for a while, so what little blood remained was congealed, but it did make a nasty slime with chunks that coated Doug, Michael and Francisco lightly).

"That could have gone better," Doug said.

* * *

In a scene that would have been comical had the three of them been covered in anything other than little bits of Brian, Doug stood flanked by Francisco and Michael as he explained the failure of the belt operation to Anna Rourke (Girl # 7) in much a similar way that he would explain to his parents that he just wrecked their car. They had relocated to inside the freezer so that the conversation would be about as private as it could get, though Anna's raised voice from time to time did negate whatever purpose the door served. 

"Long story short," Doug said, "our tools are minimal, the belts are too complicated for the implements we have, and honestly I'm not sure what we're working with here. These guys are good, they planned ahead, they have sorts of trap doors and red herrings to confuse the hell out of anyone trying to bust one of these things open. Honestly, I'm impressed."

"But that's not getting us anywhere," Anna said, more than slightly miffed, "and you just wasted the one body that we could easily get our hands on. Now we're going to have to send more people out to get another one so that you can work on-"

"I did find out one detail," Doug quickly mentioned as he cut her off.

"What?" Anna asked as she rubbed her temples.

"Here, let me show you," he said as he walked over to Francisco and lifted up his shirt a bit to show the belt. On one of the wider and thicker portions near the bank of green LED's was a recessed circle that was less than half a millimeter in its indentation. In it were a series of small rectangular holes.

"Whatever this is, it's hooked up to the arming and detonation devices. It looks like a plug of sorts, so I'm betting something hooks up to it. I'm guessing this is what they use to arm and disarm the belts when they put them on us while we're unconscious. If we could figure out how to break into this plug without detonating the belt, we might be able to pull this off."

"But you didn't do that last time," Anna said.

"No, I tried and, well," he said as he waved his arms around to himself, Michael and Francisco to Anna, "as you can see it didn't go so well."

"All right," Anna said, "what exactly detonates these things, what sets them off? Is there any way we can work around the detonators?"

"Well, there's four that I located. One's on a seventy-two hour timer, you go over the limit and kaboom, it's gone. Another one is working on pressure, so if you try and jerk the belt off it'll jerk you off your feet, and, well your feet off of you. The third one's radio based, probably working on the same frequency as our mikes, which basically gives them the right to blow one of us up if they don't like what we have to say."

"Could blowing up the radio tower take care of that one?" Anna asked, pulling up the map as it hung limply around her neck.

"It could, but how are you going to do that? None of us have a bomb more powerful than Paul's grenades which really aren't that strong and there aren't adequate supplies around here to do otherwise. I'd really love some gasoline and ammonium nitrate about now, but, ya take what you can get. There's also the fact that there's a danger zone around the radio tower going out about a hundred yards in every direction, so even if we could bomb it somehow, we'd never make it close enough for the bomb to have any effect."

"What about the fourth detonator?" Anna asked.

"That one's the fun one," Doug said with a smile, "I haven't a clue about what that one does and I wouldn't hazard a guess either, it might have to do with the danger zones, but I wouldn't bet money on it one way or the other. These guys are good, but not great. If only I could get my hands on a computer..."

Anna perked up a bit at this remark, "What about a computer?"

"Can you get one?" Doug asked with suspicion.

"Maybe. What could you do if you had a computer?"

"Pretty much anything. If I could get my hands on a computer with a hookup of any kind to an outside line, I could sneak into the computer's of whoever's running this thing and really give them hell."

"What kind of hell?" Anna asked with a smile.

"Hell like they can't operate any of their computers, all their camera's will die out and I can pipe in some Pink Floyd playing at ear shattering decibel's over their computer's speakers."

"What about the belt's though?" Anna asked.

"Well, if these belts' transmitters are hooked up to a computer of some sorts, which I'm sure they are, I could probably sneak in and deactivate them all, no sweat. Just need to find the right door and we can work this thing out. If I can get a line to the real world, I could probably sneak in enough of a virus to cover our tracks pretty decently. Why?" Doug implored.

"I can get a computer for you," Anna replied with a definite smile.

Doug smiled a genuine smile, but then the pressing question came to mind, "Where are you going to get a computer from?"

"Well..." Anna said as she looked upon Doug, "I'm not saying it will be easy to get one, but it is possible."

"How?" Doug asked, maybe a little more nervous than he would have liked to be.

"The maintenance crew that came to fix the camera had a laptop computer with them," Anna said, "it looked like they were doing diagnostics work with it. If we could get another boat to land, get the crew off somewhere fixing a camera or some such shit, we can sneak on and grab a computer I think."

"That doesn't exactly sound, ummm, safe," Doug said with another nervous look.

"It's not, and actually it's pretty damned risky," Anna said, "it'd take everyone here and a lot of luck."

Anna paced around the small room, very nervous and trying to not let it show. She was strong and icy, but she had to keep them thinking that. _What luck for rulers if men do not think, Hitler said that, right? He didn't have to work with people this aware..._

"We've gotta do this democratically," Anna said, "keep this decision in the group. We've gotta put this to a vote."

As she looked around, she spoke up to Francisco, "Get everyone in here, if we're going to do this we have to do it proper. This game is designed to turn us into animals, let's throw that in their fucking faces."

Smiling his wide and genuine smile, Francisco merely nodded as he exited the freezer. Anna was large and in charge, and he was more than happy to be just another cog in the big machine, and he liked being a part of any machine. So sue him, Francisco was a sucker for group dynamics.

* * *

The meeting was short, simple and to the point. Anna was usually one for many words used eloquently, but here the plan was so simple that she knew more words would muddle things up more than they need be. Once she announced her intentions and let Doug explain what could be achieved with a computer, it was simple to get a unanimous decision for them to coax a boat into landing on shore. 

It would be difficult, it would involve all their work, and in many ways it would be just as hazardous, if not moreso than the actual escape. But, like in poker and other games of chance, high risk could equate to high payoff. And their lives were about the biggest payoff that could be hoped for.

All they had to wait for was nightfall, which in a manner of hours would offer them all the cover they could hope for. If all went as planned, it was going to be beautiful.

* * *

Freak! Loony! Psycho! Monster! It's hideous! Dear god, what's wrong with his face? What the fuck is that thing? Murderer! Chuck! Insano! Monster! Demon! You win! Winner! Murderer! Chuck! Demon! Demon! Demon! 

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!

In frustration, Damien Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17 shook his head, slamming it against a tree with a sickening thud. The thoughts would leave eventually, he just had to calm down, let the blood pressure stop. That's what the doctors would say, just let the BP drop and the thoughts and the rage will disappear. Well, he didn't mind the rage, but hearing things that weren't there were always a pain in the ass. More often than not, they were memories, sometimes that pesky thing called a conscience, while the rest of the time... it was the darkness.

During school of course, his conscience would keep him in check. He would be called names and taunted by the Brat Pack and the other beautiful people (except the one of course, but she was an exception to all rules), call him The Demon, mock his scars and the stump of an arm that he had. Damien himself was an above average student and something of a quiet guy, always taking the incidents with good humor and a smile (which admittedly was usually quite a creepy sight in of its own right), letting things roll off of him. At least, so it seemed on the surface. More often than not they were absorbed into him like a sponge by the dark one, but he never let it out, oh no. Society would never accept it if he let it out, they would call him a freak and a Demon and lock him up in a cage like an animal.

Damien was no animal, but parts of him were definitively psychotic. The metal lodged in his skull would send thoughts ping-ponging about, more often than not working to build the façade that had worked for him so well, while the rest of the time feeding his suppressed rage and memories as the dark voice grew. Every so often, he could feel an old side, a good side, come through. Charles, Charlie, Chuck, an old name, a dead name that died with his arm, he would speak up and ask Damien why he did such horrible things, and Damien could answer it, just not to the other side's liking. As a great philosopher once said, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."

Damien smiled with certain luster and bloodlust. Most of the time he was able to fight the darkness off, but with the game he had begun to embody his Demon side through and through. In the argument of nurture versus nature, Damien had truly become The Demon through nurture through and through. Mix equal parts suppressed psychosis and taunting from self-involved beautiful people (a stigma Damien could never have at this point), and things would fall as they may.

As he truly had taken a grasp of his dark side, Damien had to look the part. In entering the Battle Royale, he had found himself oddly adept for the situation. It was all familiar, and somehow very exciting. There was no fear, he knew there should be fear, but it was almost home and almost wonderful. The bulletproof vest he acquired from Maxine was a saving grace, while his mask, an old and slightly rusted fencing mask found in an officer's supply shed with athletic equipment he used to protect his face. It was claustrophobic, but it was strong and would deflect some small arms fire. The black and slightly browned mesh mask hid his face almost in its entirety, giving Damien an anonymity to be rivaled by the villains of many an 80's slasher flick.

He walked through the trees, knowing almost instinctively how and where to search. Yes, yes, there would be others. He would find them.

He was not alone among the taunted. There were many who fell down before the wrath of the tongues and insults of the normal people. Those who felt the spite of their pranks and practical jokes used to amuse themselves and humiliate the downtrodden. Of them, Damien was one of their prime targets. Ayane, Brynn, Cheryl, Serenity, they were all the great offenders.

The second of their targets happened to be one of Damien's best friends, the man he had been searching for. As he had searched, he finally found the young man. Damien smiled his evil smile and walked over to his friend as he lay unconscious at the foot of a big tree. All 245 pounds of him.

* * *

AJ Takagaki, a.k.a. Boy # 5 was hurting. He was no athlete by any means, in fact one of the fattest, if not the fattest member of the graduating class of Braiwood High. He was a nerd through and through, and from the moment of the game start on, he had been terrified. He could not take it. They were all around him with axes and guns, and what did he get? A walkman and set of headphones. He was given a cheap device that couldn't even warrant itself as a weapon. 

He was expecting a weapon that would counter his natural flaws, like they had said early on. Weapons were to be assigned at random so as to give no one a true advantage over anyone else, just like in life. Some people were lucky, some people weren't. AJ wasn't by any means.

He shouldn't be here, he knew it and would fess up to it. He should be at home, playing online, using his armies of elves and goblins to smite his friends in the world of the internet. It was a beautiful and oft-happening affair, and on the field of battle that was Dungeons and Dragons, AJ was more often than not the victor.

Not so as it seemed here. No magic spells, no mystical swords, no dwarven armor, nothing of the like would save him here and he knew it.

So, out of fear he had tried to kill to save himself. Earlier on he had snuck up behind one person, a boy by the sounds of it, and tried to use the wire from his headphones to strangle them. As he approached though, the creature turned around, revealing it to be a monster. Really it was Gervase Rockwell, a.k.a. Boy # 24, mutilated from his attack from Marie early on in the game. He was brutally pale and covered in a light sheen of sweat, with words carved into his chest, his thumbs cut off and much of his face battered in. He spoke with a blood-filled mouth, missing most of his tongue.

"Heeeeeeelllmeeeeeeee!" he wailed as only one who lost their tongue could wail.

Fearing the monster as he saw it, AJ had run off and tried to regroup his thoughts. _No, to live out here you must be merciless. Be they beauty or beast, you must slay them without mercy._

So, upon approaching Jenny Reese, a.k.a. Girl # 11, AJ had successfully attacked. He may have been overweight and out of shape, but he was strong and he knew how to use his weight to his advantage. He had strangled her good and almost killed her, when the Good Samaritan came around.

AJ's memory was hazy after that, but as he roused beneath the tree with a pain in his head and the whole world rocking, it didn't matter. Was he dead? No, no, there's no pain in death. The throbbing in his head was more than enough to tell him otherwise.

After lying down with the throbbing head for a few minutes, he wondered if it had all really happened. Was he really in the jungle, really in Battle Royale? No, that could not be true. It was all just a bad dream, it had to be. The throbbing must've been from staying up too late playing video games. Yeah, that was it, he stayed up too late.

And then his face was cold, icy cold and wet. He found himself sputtering on water and shocked into complete consciousness as someone stood before him. His vision was a bit blurry, but as he reached down and found his glasses on his chest, AJ pulled them to his eyes and looked.

It was a frightening spectacle dressed almost entirely in black, a blackish-brown non-descript face with a gray chest and pants. It had only one solid arm, the other one muted and dull. The only thing that truly stood out about the figure would be the gleam of silver that stood out from his belt, a shiny thing, like a knife or maybe a screwdriver by the looks of its shape. It held an empty water bottle over AJ's face, having emptied it all over him prior. AJ couldn't see it behind the figure's non-descript face, but he just knew that they were smiling.

"Good morning sunshine," the figure in the mask said with a high-pitched yet almost hiss-like voice that was unmistakably Damien's, and as if he caught a joke he continued almost singing, "the earth says hello..."

"Damien, is that... is that you?" AJ asked groaning.

"In the flesh," Damien replied, pulling off his mask and setting it down on the floor. He sat down cross-legged in front of AJ with a smile on his face, where he pulled out the screwdriver from his belt and traced it along the ground. Although in a daze, it wasn't hard for AJ to see the blood on him.

"What happened to you?" AJ asked.

"Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that, Elena, Maxine and I got in a spat. The usual you know, how's by you?" Damien asked almost cheerfully with a smile on his face.

AJ was scared and tried to back away. He was sitting next to a murderer, true, they were friends, but this murderer could take him out at any minute. If anyone knew Damien's potential, it was AJ.

"Don't run," Damien said, "I really don't want to kill you, but if you run you won't give me a whole lot of choice."

Sitting down again with pure fear, AJ remained still and silent as Damien continued.

"AJ my friend, I come with a proposition," Damien said with a wistful grin as he dug the flat-bladed screwdriver into the ground.

"What... what proposition?" AJ asked a bit nervously and with some fear.

"The Brat Pack on a silver platter," Damien said, "they're collapsing in on themselves, it's quite the spectacle actually. Would you like some front row tickets? Maybe a hand in helping them implode?"

If monkeys had suddenly sprouted from Damien's mouth and started dancing a jig, AJ would never have been more surprised. He and the Brat Pack had something of a history, but of them all, none of them had spited him more than one Miss Ayane Fujikawa, a.k.a. Girl # 14.

* * *

As it was, AJ had had a crush on her for the longest time through the earliest years of high school, she was so beautiful and could speak Japanese just as fluently as he. AJ himself was from the old country as well, his family and Ayane's having joined in on the mass exodus of families from The Greater Republic of East Asia to escape the Battle Royale Act to protect their children. They took Japanese classes together on Saturday's as their parents dictated was a necessary action. Ayane had always been so pretty, and AJ was always one to fall for pretty girls. He was always the fat kid, but he believed in the tale of The Ugly Duckling, one day it would grow into a beautiful swan. 

Unfortunately he never became that swan, instead wallowing more and more in his own physical imperfections. He loved being who he was, and it was probably great for him to be as proud as he was. Regardless, Ayane, outside of the occasional smile would never actually notice AJ in any seriousness. On the other hand, he was more than willing to take her smiles in all seriousness. It had gotten to the point that he couldn't take it any more and decided to profess his love for her, confiding his deepest secrets and even his true ashamedness of being the way he was. He did, and she looked disgusted and ran off.

If being heartbroken was not bad enough, the situation had gotten worse for AJ. Around that time, junior year, he was running for the senior class vice president. AJ was great with the computers and had perhaps some of the best posters up around school. That, and his dry sense of self-deprecating humor and general know-how of school politics made him a sure bet for the win. Two days after Ayane spurned him, the fliers went up. They were all crudely photocopied fliers done up in Photoshop and taped up all around the school over his posters. On it was a horrid looking, fat, slug-like creature with glasses on it. Underneath it, the words:

AJ THE HUTT

YOU'VE SEEN THE BEAST, NOW ELECT HIM VP

AJ had seen the sight with shock, and basically all will he had collapsed entirely. People were laughing at him all around the school, calling him AJ The Hutt in a joking manner left and right. Ashamed and embarrassed beyond all bounds, he dropped out of the election (even though he still probably would have won) and tried to drop into anonymity.

Seeing Cheryl and Brynn giggling in the hallway, high-fiving each other after they looked at him was more than enough proof to tell him who was truly at fault. And AJ had never let it drop. Not then, not now.

So, the chance to take on Ayane and her followers sounded like more than a good idea, hell, it sounded like destiny.

* * *

"How do you think we can take them down?" AJ asked Damien as he came out of his haze. 

"Quite easily," Damien responded as he got into speech mode, having rehearsed this for some time in his search for AJ, "there's some great benefits in having large groups in a game like this, more protection, more people to watch out for while you're asleep, more people to talk to and socialize with, and one of them is bound to have some brains to work something out in regards to getting out of here. However, too big a group can easily backfire, like our friends the Brat Pack here. They are all holed up in their stronghold a little ways off, thinking they've got it all protected and the like. They're idiots."

AJ nodded as Damien smiled and licked his teeth, whereupon he continued, "There's blind spots in their defenses, their sentries cannot see in all directions. As well, there's a small window that leads into the basement that none of them have fortified, break it and its easy to get in. I know, I've done it and I've listened to their dynamic which I must admit is quite entertaining."

Damien waved his hand with the screwdriver wildly through the air, punctuating every point with a stab into some invisible target.

"Ayane and Brynn are in a pissing match to prove who's in charge, neither one is ready to back down and let the other. Ayane's lower on the totem though and Brynn's taking control, there's a lot of things there that sleep deprivation can screw you, Ayane's getting it hard. Cheryl's shot in the belly and is pretty much useless, same can be said for the tiny girl, Tammy I believe, that they picked up. Dora's the one protecting those two dead pieces of dead weight, I don't think she cares for Brynn and Ayane too much."

AJ counted them off in his head, then asking the obvious question, "What about Serenity?"

"She's a dumbass," Damien said, "nothing's changed there."

AJ smiled, remembering why he liked Damien.

"All we have to do," Damien said, "is sow a few seeds of doubt, take a life here or there, make them think each other to be murderers, and the pieces will fall into place after that. We get to watch them kill each other."

AJ then spoke up with thoughts of his own, "You said we take some lives? We kill them?"

"Well, maybe," Damien said with a shrug, "whatever it takes to get them to wind up taking on and taking out each other. That's the real fun in all of this."

"Well," AJ said with a bit of conviction, "if we do, I get Ayane. That's my only condition in helping you. I want her."

Damien hardly needed a second to think the matter over, as he knew the history and he knew how it would all wind up reconciling itself. Jamming the screwdriver into the ground, he held his hand out for AJ to shake.

"You got it," Damien said with his wide smile as he licked his teeth.

AJ smiled, putting his hand out to shake his friends'. The Brat Pack were soon to come up against true partners in crime, and it would be epic.

That much was certain.


	23. Hour 18: 38 Contestants Remaining

Hour 18

38 Contestants Remaining

As another six hours passed, as it would for the next two days, the speakers around the Battle Royale Island screeched and popped as they were warmed up, the voice of DJ J.J. Squalls echoing up and down the island.

"Hey hey, evening kiddies and might I say we're damned proud of ya, we're picking up the pace again and I says have at it! True, in Japan and France they've had competitions over by now, but what do they know, huh? Slow and steady wins the race as I always says, quality over quantity any day, and might I say the quality of your kills is improving mighty fine. Some of you would put splatter flicks to shame! Anyhow, here's a list of your friends in the order that they died. First up we have Girl # 3, Lisa Pickford, shot and had her head exploded with a shotgun by our Miss Vasquez, keep it up Ashley, you're the first to kill twice. Next up we have Girl # 22, Elena Norris, stabbed through the head with a screwdriver by the one, the only, The Demon, Damien Myers. Job well done Myers, very Dawn of the Dead-esque. Anyhow, next up on the list for an early funeral, Girl # 25, Maxine Summers, stabbed by Damien but hey, ya can't get them all, she got away and got herself shot by Brynn. Whoopee. Anyhow, last name on the list, Boy # 8, Luke Wesson who was... Well, since y'all probably don't want to know the gory detail's, and since they gross me out pretty decently too, I'll shut up. The long and short of it says he got brutalized pretty decently by Lori and Lara with a flare gun and a fire ax. So, the viewers have spoken and Lara, Lori, you two have won the prize of best kill of the last six hours! Head on over to the radio tower, it is temporarily not a danger zone to pick up your prize."

To anyone who could hear it, J.J. set up another record on the player with a distinct crackling sound.

"It may be tough when your friends die on ya guys, but hey, you're still young, you have plenty of time to make more of them. So, on that happy note I'm off for the night, catch y'all at six tomorrow morning. Until then, here's some music to kill by! Have fun!"

As the record scratched itself to life, Lynyrd Skynyrd blared over the loudspeakers to any and all those who were still capable of listening.

"_Whiskey Bottles, and brand new cars_

_Oak tree your in my way_

_There is too much coke_

_And too much smoke_

_Look what's goin on inside you_

_Ooh that smell_

_Can't you smell that smell_

_Ooh that smell_

_Can't you smell that smell_

_The smell of death surrounds you..."_

* * *

Dora Janovec, a.k.a. Girl # 9 sat listening to the broadcast from the living quarters that she had helped make in the infirmary with the rest of her friends. It wasn't exactly the friendliest of places to be; if it was anything, it was rather unpleasant. She had slept fitfully like the rest for some time and had maintained much of her strength, which admittedly wasn't a whole lot, but was enough to get by. If anything, it was a god damn miracle in this place, given that the room she resided in wasn't quite conducive to good sleep patterns. 

In one corner, Tammy Farrell, a.k.a. Girl # 8 sat silently on her cot, bracing her back against the corner and rhythmically smacking her head into the wall. For a while now, Dora had tried to stop her, but she wound up giving up after it proved that Tammy could not be stopped. The girl was completely in shock, in a world entirely hers and hers alone. She hadn't moved of her own volition or spoken any words since the game began. It was understandable considering the fact that she was next to Mr. Rhodes when he blew his brains out, getting a copious amount of his blood splattered over her shirt and shoes. Many had taken the sight in stride (or at least with a mix of shock and then apathy that could be interpreted as stride), but Tammy was screwed up real good from the event. She just sat on the cot, rhythmically smacking her head into the wall and ignoring all around her.

While Tammy offered up the sounds that made the room so pleasant, the smell was a rich combination of the room's mold and Cheryl Palmer, a.k.a. Girl # 16's blood. Having been shot in the belly earlier by Brian Pavell (Dora didn't like it when people she knew died, but since Brian was a dick she was more than willing to make an exception), she had bled copiously for hours. For a while they thought they had it controlled, but being the human body that she was, Cheryl just kept on pumping, her blood leaking out in a thin trickle that really added up after a while. They had placed a bucket underneath her cot to keep things from running all over the place, but it just wasn't enough. She was dying. It may be another hour or another day, but she was dying, and it sickened Dora that there was nothing they could do about it. Every so often she would lapse back into consciousness and scream or give another apocalyptic speech of sorts in her sarcastic way, but they all knew the truth of the matter. She was hurting, slowly bleeding to death, and there was nothing they could do.

Dora sighed. Things were not looking good, no, not in the slightest. As it was, if it wasn't for Dora both Cheryl and Tammy more than likely would be dead. Ayane and Brynn, the fighters that they were, would have left them for dead. They had spent almost their entire time since they had started the Battle Royale bickering, and Dora almost thought that Brynn was on the verge of killing Ayane sometimes just to shut the conflict down. It was scary but true. Ayane herself had been tough as nails since the beginning of the game, but once Maxine was killed, a lot of her energy seemed to disappear. She wasn't the same bitch, the same warrior, and a lot of little things just seemed to have gone from her spirit. Dora had no clue how Maxine's death had truly affected Ayane, nor would Ayane let it be known how her feelings really were. Everyone just assumed that Ayane was suffering from fatigue (she had not slept one minute in the game since they had all woken up in the bunker).

Dora sighed again. As far as Brynn and Ayane were concerned, Cheryl was no good and would slow them down, and Tammy was as good as dead already, they would have left them behind (Brynn more than Ayane, but Ayane would do nothing to stop Brynn). Screw the fact that they were people, screw the fact that they were alive, screw the fact that their lives were as worthy as any other person, had it not been for Dora, they'd be dead.

"They have a real sick sense of humor," Cheryl said dryly, coughing into the back of her hand as she weakly lifted it to her mouth. Dora got up from bed, and brought another one of the moldy old pillows they found to prop Cheryl's head up.

The sun was setting rapidly, with bright orange light pouring through as it disappeared in the sky. Shadows danced across the room, covering most of it in darkness. Nevertheless, it was not that difficult for Dora to see that Cheryl's condition was deteriorating and rapidly. She was very pale, her skin the color of porcelain with a light sheen of cold sweat covering her. Her eyes were sunken in circles of blackness, the normally bright blue eyes staring through were only half opened. The paleness of her skin stuck out in stark contrast to the bright red mist of blood that stained the back of her hand. Dora walked over with a handkerchief, wiping the redness from Cheryl's skin and the small trickle that issued from the side of her mouth.

She was getting worse, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

"Their music's all about death and dying," Cheryl said, "They got your hard rock, they got your country rock, but they don't have the good music. The people demand Blondie! The people demand Blondie!"

She then coughed another fine mist of blood against the wall, then laughing and singing in something of a wail, _"One way, or another, I'm gonna get you, I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha, one way, or another, I'm gonna find ya, I'll find ya, I'll find ya!"_

Between Tammy's rhythmic thumping of her head against the wall and the wailing that was Cheryl's singing voice, Dora felt sad and alone. She wanted to break into tears and just scream out at the top of her lungs, but she couldn't do that. She couldn't do that.

A head poked its way through the door to the sleeping room, attached to Serenity Powers, a.k.a. Girl # 12 as she stuck it through.

"Everything ok in here?" she asked.

Wiping a tear from her eye and trying not to let it show, Dora said, "Yeah, I'm good, just trying to get a little sleep."

"Good luck with those two," Serenity said in attempt to make a joke yet finding Dora less than amused.

"What's up?" Dora asked.

"We're holding a meeting," Serenity said, "talk about the others in the mess hall, see if we can work something out maybe. Ayane and Brynn want both of us in there too, you coming?"

"Yeah," Dora said as she tried to compose herself, "I'm coming."

"Cool," Serenity said, "we're in the waiting room, see ya there!"

Serenity had kept the same crazy bubbly attitude that she had in the outside world, which had given her the stigma of being a bimbo and airhead, and truth be told, that was probably quite accurate. Dora loved Serenity dearly as a friend, but she really, truly was an idiot. She got by on her looks more than anyone else from the Brat Pack, and she worshipped, utterly worshipped all the pop idols. Her walls were plastered with pictures and posters of N'Sync, The Backstreet Boys, Christina, Beyoncé, Britney, Justin and the rest, and the music would forever emanate from her room at near deafening levels. More than anything else, she wanted to be the next Britney Spears. Which was fine and everything, but hearing Serenity talk about wanting surgery for augmentation to her already substantial bust would really get irritating after time.

Dora mused that she could have really used some of Serenity's energy and enthusiasm in even these, the worst of times, yet knew that what she was given would have to do.

Getting up, she straightened out her clothes and walked to join the others in the waiting room.

* * *

"I've maintained constant contact with Anna over in the mess hall ever since she started calling around," Girl # 14, Ayane Fujikawa, said as she sat back in the old and musty couch that they had found in the waiting room. She winced in pain a bit as she felt the bullet move around in her shoulder, but she was surviving (even though to pretty much everyone around her, the fatigue that she suffered from was very obvious. 

Ayane, Brynn, Serenity and Dora sat on the couch and a couple of folding chairs they had found, propping themselves around a coffee table with one of their maps and student list on it.

"She's been texting for some time now," Ayane continued, "and though I can't go over the exact details, it sounds like they've got a good plan and a decent operation over there."

"Decent?" Girl # 6, Brynn Sanchez, asked with her standard air of skepticism.

"They've got eleven people, four guns, bombs, lots of other weapons and organization," Ayane said, "which is a hell of a lot better than what we've got right now."

"OK," Brynn replied, "so we get up and get a move on to the mess hall, when we already have a good setup here?"

"Yes," Ayane said, getting irritated, "they have safety in numbers, which is something we don't really have. If we get together with them, we'll have give or take seventeen people together, which is something we really, really need."

"Well that's all fine and dandy," Brynn said, "except we don't know if we can really trust Anna, do we?"

There was an off look in her eyes that none could deny, but Brynn was more than ready to continue.

"Anna might really be on her own, calling people to try and get them to come to her like some fucked up pied piper, then she kills them off one by one as they come up, she could easily wrack up a body count. She could've killed off all the people she mentioned so far."

"Ummm, Brynn," Dora mentioned, "remember the body count announcement, you know, the one that happened just a few minutes ago?"

"Well," Brynn replied, "maybe nobody has gotten there yet, or maybe she's just starting out the plan on us."

"If that doesn't suit you, running out there right away, why don't we just send out a scout to check out the path?" Ayane mentioned.

"Hell, that's even worse," Brynn said, "that's fucking suicide. Neither is good for us, send one person out and they'll get killed, if the four of us head on out, we'll have protection but nothing's guaranteed."

"Four? We're six strong," Dora responded with a bit of anger.

"We're only four strong, plus two weak. Cheryl and whatshername are no good, we cannot afford to carry them. If we're going to move, we cannot afford to take them with us," Brynn replied, "Cheryl maybe, we can get a stretcher in the basement and carry her, but the other girl, no way, no how, we leave her here."

"If we leave her here she'll die!" Dora said, "We can't let another person die, too many people have died already."

"Not my problem," Brynn said, "I don't want to die, I don't want any of us to die, and we're not going to die because we're still strong. If it makes you feel any better, I'll put a bullet in the back of her head myself to make it quick and simple."

"NO!" Dora said as she stood up quickly. Using her good arm, Ayane pulled her back into her seat.

"We've already had this conversation," Ayane said, "and it's not going to get us anywhere. What will get us somewhere is getting together with the others. I'll go run on over to the mess hall, check out their operation and run back. It can't be much more than three hours over, three hours back."

"No, no, no, ain't gonna happen," Brynn said, "you've got a bullet in your shoulder and if you got into some shit you wouldn't be able to hold your own."

"Well, I'm in better shape than anyone else here," Ayane said, "any of you had martial arts training?"

"No," Brynn replied, "but none of us have a piece of hot lead lodged in our shoulder blade."

"Well," Ayane said conspiratorially, "why don't you do it?"

"Yeah Brynn," Dora said with a slight air of spite, "you're in better shape than any of the rest of us after Ayane, and you already do have the killing spirit. If anyone got in your way you'd be able to take them out without any problems. Just like Maxine."

She said the last remark with enough bite to send Brynn and Ayane both scowling, yet neither was really willing to speak up about it. Brynn herself was deep in thought; she did not want to get out of the shelter of the infirmary, but she also did want to get out of the game as well. Unappealing as the option sounded and despite the fact that Anna was a raving bitch, the girl really did have things together in life and if there was anyone who could figure a way out, it would be her.

"I'll need the rifle," Brynn said.

"Can't take it," Ayane said, "if we get attacked, that leaves us completely defenseless. You're good off with your pepper spray, but if you need to even the odds..."

At that, Ayane reached down to the side of her leg and unfastened a buckle. She pulled the sheathed machete from her leg and slid it across the table to Brynn.

"Take it or leave it," Ayane said.

Brynn took the sheathed weapon and looked at its leather straps. Bringing them down, she snapped the buckles around her leg and kept the weapon at the ready.

"Three hours over, three hours back?" Brynn asked hesitantly.

"Give or take," Ayane said, "depends on how light the trails are, how long you spend over there and what happens. You can take care of yourself better than any of us though, so I don't think it'll be an issue."

Brynn grabbed the map from the table, slinging the plastic cord from the pouch around her neck. She looked to her backpack in the pile nearby and then decided against it. The map, compass, flashlight, mace and machete would be all that she would need. All things considered she was given the most comfort by the pepper spray. One dose and anyone who would try to attack her would instantly regret it. That made Brynn smile.

"If I wind up dead," Brynn said in a joking manner, "I am so gonna come back from the grave to kick the crap out of all you guys."

Serenity got up to give her friend a hug, while Dora and Ayane both gave their appreciation in handshakes and waves.

"I'll be right back," Brynn said with some resentment. She didn't want to be out in the open, but honestly she didn't trust any of the others to finish the mission. Besides, she'd be away from Ayane and Dora, given some peace and quiet.

As Serenity and Ayane pulled down the boards they had nailed up to the front door, Brynn deftly crept through the small gap they had created. As soon as she left, the nails were pounded back into the wall. Serenity, bored as she was, moved onto the couch and propped herself out. Dora plopped down in a chair, holding the soccer ball that had come with Cheryl's pack and tossing it into the air idly. Ayane took the rifle, using the box of bullets that came with it to reload.

"God I'm glad she's gone," Dora said.

"Amen to that sister," Ayane said with a smile, "amen to that."

"That's not very nice," Serenity added with a huff.

"Yeah, well neither is she," Dora continued before sitting down in a chair and stretching out the best she could. _God I want to get off this rock._

* * *

Tammy Farrell, a.k.a. Girl # 8 sat in her cot, marveling at the fog that she seemed to be surrounded by. It was pleasant, quiet, and kept the dangers from getting to her. It made her completely oblivious to all the pain that she had inflicted upon herself and had been inflicted upon her. She smiled, in her mind at least, as she rocked back and forth. She was sitting on a rowboat in the middle of the ocean, a nice day, the sun was shining, and she had one of her favorite books in hand. Through The Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll, a book she could read day in, day out and could stay in her imagination forever. 

She was like Alice, a strange person in a strange land, so Earth often seemed to her. Disappearing into the world of fantasy where nothing was as it seemed was so much better than the real world. The real world was scary, frightening and hurtful. People would yell at you, hit you, touch you like they shouldn't...

She retreated back to that rowboat, rocking back and forth in the surf and truly enjoying the peace and solitude. The fog got thicker, and Tammy realized that it was time to come out of the fantasy. She didn't want to, she really did not. She just wanted to sit on her boat and read her book all day for the rest of her life. No problems, no one worrying about anything and everyone getting along elsewhere. She had her peace and her solitude that she could live with.

As the fog got thicker, Tammy could feel the throbbing in the back of her head. It was bruised and lumpy and very tender. The rest of her head felt like it was being held in a giant press of sorts, hurting more than she could guess._ What's happened? Did I hurt my head?_

As she rocked back and forth in the cot once more, her head impacted with the wall and created a dull THOCK, sending bolts of lightning through Tammy's skull. _Ow, that really hurts._

As the fog began to clear, she could see and smell what was really in the world. It was dark, a strange mix of blackness and odd orange shapes. She could see an odd window of sorts off to the side, and a room filled with beds. No, not beds, old cots. The smell was musty, very unpleasant, a mix of blood and mold.

No, this wasn't right, something was horribly wrong. Memories came flooding back, Nick, Tamyra, Brian knocking her down, that horrible walk through the jungle... Mr. Rhodes blowing his brains out all over the room like that. Hearing Maxine scream outside. Everything rushed back to Tammy in a torrent, and she suddenly became aware of her surroundings. She had been out, stuck in her fantasy world again. _Can't keep doing that whenever the world gets you down, it'll hurt you more than it already has, just, just don't do that, don't do that._

You have to get out of here, this isn't right. She flexed her fingers and toes, getting accustomed to consciousness once more. You were saved, Dora, Ayane, Brynn, they all saved you. She opened her eyes wide, stretching the muscles in her cheeks and mouth. She opened her mouth wide, stretching and smiling. Everything was going to be ok, she didn't know why, but they would be all right.

Looking around with wide eyes and a little bit of a smile on her face, she knew it would be all right.

The door to the basement creaked open off to Tammy's right. She smiled, expecting to see her savior, Dora Janovec to step through and welcome her back, back into sanity and into a productive role in life. Instead, what she was met with were two figures. One figure was large and wide, nearly blocking out the entire doorway, while the second was smaller. He was hunched over with a slight curve to his spine and movements that seemed to belong more to an animal than any human. His face was completely obscured, and one of his arms was muted at a point. In his other arm he held a metal spike that caught glimmers of the rest of the day's light.

Tammy looked over to the form of Cheryl in the next cot, looking for help, but Cheryl was unconscious, completely out to the world. The smaller figure pounced silently, running towards Tammy as its feet found the edge of her cot and quickly balanced upon it. She tried to scream, but her mouth would merely open in a wide circle without sound. He cleared the distance between them in a manner of seconds, pushing her back down onto the cot. He ripped at her stomach and then ran off back into the basement as the door closed behind him silently. The big figure never moved, simply standing in the basement's doorframe and watching the spectacle as it unfolded before he too disappeared below.

Tammy was terrified, but recognized no pain whatsoever. Running her hands over her stomach, she felt it. There was no blood, no pain, and she was going to live. That was strange, really strange. As she got her bearings back, she finally heard it.

A beeping sound. It had started the moment of the attack, and was increasing in pace. _Oh god, no, it can't be._ _It can't be, no! He didn't hurt you, I'm not bleeding! I'm not bleeding!_

Her attacker had wrenched at her belt, activating its pressure detonator which would soon go to the charges and split her in half. Tammy wanted to cry, and maybe a few tears did wind their way down her face. But she had to get help, she couldn't live without it.

She stood up with legs wobbling from lack of use and bounded through the door that would lead to the examination room and the waiting room beyond. Bounding through the exam room, she pushed open the door to the waiting room with a shriek and looked around wildly at Ayane, Serenity and Dora. The three girls looked absolutely confused at what the hell had happened to their previous catatonic roommate, and even more at the wild look on her face. No one seemed to notice the beeping sound.

"Tammy?" Dora said hopefully.

Tammy braced her arms in the doorway, tears streaming down her face as she shrieked, "WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"

Those were her first and last words in the Battle Royale competition, as the explosives in her belt ignited, ripping through her torso and spine and cutting her body in half. The legs still had strength in them enough to stand for a few seconds, at which point the top half folded over and made the body into a grotesque sandwich of sorts, blood and gore sprayed all over the place as it all fell to the floor in a single mess.

Ayane, Serenity and Dora stood by in complete and utter shock, each of them having dots of Tammy's blood over them as they sat around the coffee table. The silence that followed was deafening, all of the women just sitting and staring at what used to be Tammy.

Ayane was dumbfounded, in complete shock.

Serenity started to cry.

Dora started wondering in the back of her mind where exactly Brynn was, and if they really had gotten all the exits as secure as they had expected.


	24. Hour 19: 37 Contestants Remaining

Hour 19

37 Contestants Remaining

Boy # 22, Francisco Marquez, stood holding a baseball bat in a small grove of trees. He looked at the camera array located in the tree ten feet above, rocking back and forth nervously on his feet as he waited for the cue. The blind spot they'd found wouldn't allow the camera or any adjacent ones to see him, but he was nervous nevertheless. Next to him Anna smoked from her pack of Morley's, clearly enjoying the fumes while he bobbed back and forth.

Francisco coughed lightly, not really a fan of cigarettes but all things considered definitely a fan of Anna right now. Francisco would have been the first to admit that that he wasn't the brightest of people on the planet, and to anyone who asked, they'd probably say that Frank's heart was bigger than his brain. It's not to say that he was an idiot, but when it came to planning things and putting them into action, he wasn't exactly Einstein. When it came to big things, Francisco was a mover, not a shaker. He was a cog, part of the bigger machine.

And frankly, he was damned proud of it. The world was full of too many people with too many ideas and not enough people to put the ideas into effect. Francisco wanted to be one of the people to put things into effect, if just to get them done.

He trusted Anna probably more than he should have and he was more than willing to admit it, but she was a leader, and a damned good one at that. Sure, she was called the Ice Queen when it came to politics and her usual interpersonal skills, but she was also a very charismatic speaker and a good planner. Put her in front of a crowd and she could convince anyone to do just about anything. Then again, the just-about-anything that she could convince them to do would often turn out to be the right thing.

"It time yet?" Francisco asked as he gripped the bat even tighter in his large hands.

Girl # 7, Anna Rourke shot him an evil gaze, putting two fingers over her mouth in a harsh manner. She quickly pulled out her pen and one of the maps she had dangling around her neck (she had taken maps from Paul, Jenny and Michael and had them all around her neck, all with various notes and sketches on them.) Uncapping the pen, she wrote a note quickly on the paper and showed it to Francisco. Although the sun had almost entirely crossed the horizon, there was enough ambient light to read it in.

QUIET! When I signal.

Francisco nodded, and Anna held her hand up, putting one finger up so that he could see.

'One minute,' she mouthed. Once again Francisco nodded.

At that, Anna started jogging through the jungle, headed towards her spot with Doug and Lexie as they would make up the party that would board the boat. Francisco kept pumping himself up, _hit the camera and run like hell. Hit the camera, run like hell, it's simple, yeah man, it's simple!_

He knew there were about five or six seconds before it would become a danger zone, and he really, really did not want to get blown in half by an explosive belt.

_Come on Frankie, it's game time. You can do this, you can do this, no sweat, you're the starter here, you're the lynch pin. Anna's gonna give the signal and-_

He heard the sound. Four loud claps, followed by two more louder claps. It was unmistakable. Looking up, but staying out of the camera's line of sight, Francisco swung the bat up and towards the camera's lens. It shattered immediately upon impact, sparks arcing out from the damaged electrical components.

"DAMAGE OF BATTLE ROYALE EQUIPMENT IS IN STRICT VIOLATIONS OF SET RULES! THIS IMMEDIATE AREA WILL BECOME A DANGER ZONE! YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

Like Anna had described, a small red light started to flash at a regular and increasing interval underneath the camera, and like Anna had mentioned, Francisco ran like hell, running and sprinting as the red flood light blasted on behind him and lit a wide area on the ground behind him. Bright red, but luckily he had gotten out of the way just in time. _Perfect, perfect._

* * *

One by one, more red floodlights set themselves off in the forest, bathing an area that led straight along the path towards the ocean. Once again, Francisco sat back in amazement. Anna had predicted that they would create a path using the danger zones for the maintenance crew to use safely. What was even funnier was that she had figured out that they would be predictable and dumb enough to use an old footpath, which wasn't strategically smart, but made it easy for the members of SABRE. Francisco looked on from his place, hiding among the bushes and watching the area by the camera. He would be the first of their sentries, watching the repair crew, listening for intelligence and waiting for them to finish. Once finished, Francisco would be the first link in a line of sentries, sending signals along the way from person to person to the boarding party, making sure that they would not get caught and summarily executed on the boat. 

It would simply be waiting now, just waiting...

* * *

Anna, Paul (Boy # 12), Lexie (Girl # 20), Doug (Boy # 2), and Ashley (Girl # 5) stood by the tree line on the beach, not too far from the end of the path where the repair crew would soon be going. They had a blind of tall grass and bushes keeping them concealed. It was a hard balance to reach; they needed to do everything they could to avoid and hide themselves from the soldiers, but at the same time stick close enough to find out everything they could about them. Anna wanted to know names, ranks, weapons, whatever they could find and whatever they could use to fight the system. 

_It's time we started playing this by our own rules..._

Anna smiled as stood alongside the members of her crew that would be taking on the most dangerous portion of the task. Along with Lexie and Doug, she would be part of the main boarding team. Their tasks were simple: Lexie and Doug would look for a laptop and whatever else they could find that would be useful, while Anna would go to the ship's bridge and use the Polaroid camera Jenny had brought for Grad Nite to take pictures of the controls. She wanted to know what went where on the ship so that she might have a decent idea on how to operate it.

Ashley and Paul held with them perhaps the only tasks more dangerous than the actual boarding of the boat. They were the two who would be creating noise, diversions, whatever it would take to save their asses and give the boarding crew those necessary few minutes. Paul was armed with his combination of hand grenades and chainsaw, but with his role, they'd hopefully prove unnecessary. See, one of Paul's greatest talents besides his great knowledge of movies, was his ability at making voices. He could mimic teacher's voices almost to a t and mock them like no other. His impressions were notorious, and on more than one occasion his prank phone calls to the school's office had gotten various students out of ditching school all in the name of a sick day. He was a good Samaritan and a hero to many, and in his own eyes, he was providing a very valuable public service. A world without the class clown who could recite films from memory is a deprived world, but without one who could do voices to get you out of class so you could kick back and get stoned all day, that would not be a world. He would be working distractions.

Ashley on the other hand was the last line of warning. Essentially, her job required her to hide out in the bushes, and once the line of sentries signaled her, she would hit the squelch button on Michael's megaphone to warn those on the boat with an electronic squeal once the repair team was finished and started back for the boat. It was a dangerous job, but of all the people on the island who could undertake such works, Ashley was the most prepared. She was not a figure to be frightened of on first sight, short, wiry and tightly muscled, but within she held a great strength. Ashley herself would often comment how she was like a cockroach, impossible to kill and bound to live forever so long as she kept eating. She wasn't a killer by personality, but knowing that there were other people out there who were willing to kill her made it reasonably easy. She had dispatched Peter and Lisa with some difficulty, and she would have felt bad had she not known that they wanted to kill her in the first place.

Being armed also helped up the comfort level, and armed Ashley was. Using Paul's chainsaw, she had made Carter's double-barreled shotgun into a sawed-off, decreasing its range but making it one of the most effective close-range jungle combat weapons around (hence why it was a favorite during Vietnam). As well she had Peter's police baton looped on a piece of rope through her belt, her assigned tire iron in her pack and the switchblade that she normally kept for safety at school firmly in her pocket. But no, those weren't the best part. No, Peter's extra prize, his extra special extra weapon. That was the clincher, that was what made life cool. They were a relic of times past, and maybe a bit rusted, but Ashley wasn't one to mind. They were just so damn cool...

Brass knuckles, nothing like them. Ashley smiled as she stroked them in her pocket for the millionth time this evening, getting more feelings of protection from them than any gun she could have been given. Then again, the sawed-off was pretty nice.

Anna tapped Ashley on the arm, getting her to stop stroking the brass knuckles and get her hands back on the shotgun. The boat was approaching, a dark shape on the horizon with a few bright white lights that got larger as it approached. Anna waved for the attention of the other four around her, setting her hand out in front of them. Getting the picture, Doug put his hand out on top of hers, followed by Lexie and Paul. Ashley hesitantly put her free hand on top of the rest, clutching her fingers tight and pulling the five of them close together. Anna looked on with intense eyes, nodding to the rest.

It was time.

* * *

As the boat powered onto the beach, it drove in quick and close to shore. Once it stopped, floating gently in the surf, six men in fatigues jumped over the side into waist-deep water, two of them holding backpacks above their heads while the rest carried tranquilizer pistols. The people who ran the Battle Royale would not permit any of the soldiers to kill any of the contestants unless they were an immediate threat. Failure to abide by theses regulations would result in a hanging. However, so long as they stuck to the Danger Zones, it would not be an issue, since none of the contestants could wander close enough to kill them. Nevertheless, most of them did have one sidearm for that "just in case" scenario, while the soldier in front, the one with three stripes on his arm badge, held an M-16 rifle. 

As well he was the loudest of the bunch, a fact which helped the members of SABRE, _especially_ Paul. One of the men carrying backpacks, a young Japanese man by the looks of it, dropped his pack into the ocean and stumbled slightly on a rock. As the soldier who remained on the boat with the mounted machine gun (an M-60 by the looks of it) tried to jump down and help, the sergeant (a burly man of southern descent by the sounds of his voice) yelled.

"Gawd dammit Kamiya!" he hollered, "I don't care how much they're payin' you, that's expensive shit and it sure as hell ain't waterproofed!"

He yanked the floating pack from the ocean and thrust it into Kamiya's hands.

"When we's out here, you just fix shit, don't break it, or so help me god I'm gonna fuckin write up your civilian ass out of here! And Briscoe get your happy crappy back in the damned boat! You're on the gun and only on the gun, so don't you fuckin move!"

The soldier who started to move from the boat immediately got back to his position behind the machine gun. The other person with a backpack laughed, their snicker carrying over to those in the bushes.

"Same goes for you Hennessey, I hear you civvies so much as fart and you're gonna find yourselves accidentally falling down a flight of stairs!"

Anna was taking down notes furiously with a pen, writing names, ranks (as far as she could tell) and weapons on the back of Paul's map as it hung around her neck.

"Can you sound him?" she softly whispered to Paul.

Even though it was dark and the moonlight didn't offer much visibility, it was not that hard to see Paul's Cheshire Cat grin. He simply nodded and looked on eagerly. Anna smiled back, giving the thumb and forefinger ok.

They watched as the soldiers and civilian personnel moved on, at most ten feet away from their blind in the bushes. The red light that bathed the soldiers in their perceived safety, while it dimmed out all the jungle that surrounded them acted as protection for SABRE. Anna was close enough to read the nametags on their shirts and catch their ranks. Olderham was the guy in charge, the sergeant, the one yelling every which way. As for the soldiers, there was a Fisk, a Neidermeyer (Anna always thought it was a name made up for that college movie, but no, it was real) and a Mraz. Kamiya and Hennessey were the civilian technicians, carrying their repair gear: an extra laptop to test their equipment and a replacement camera. Back on the boat stood another soldier, Briscoe with the machine gun. The operation would be more than simple, a combined effort between the eleven members of SABRE and one southern sergeant who talked too much for his own good.

* * *

Francisco held his breath. He could see the soldiers as they walked under the red glow of the danger zone lights. They neared the location of his camera, standing at the base of the tree with repair kit and replacement camera in hand. He wanted to remain deathly silent, disappear into the trees and be completely invisible. Francisco was no fool, he didn't want to die, and like anyone put in a similar situation he wanted to get out. But, it was time. Their window wasn't very wide, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, but it would have to be enough. 

With a job to be done, Francisco looked around. He couldn't see the next sentry, but he knew where they were. Pulling out his flashlight, he cupped his hands around the edge so that no light would escape to the side and aimed it down the path. Turning it on, he let the light pour through the circle his hand made. With his free hand, he covered it twice quickly and made a flashing appearance.

* * *

Sitting in a tree about one hundred feet away, Boy # 20, Gus O'Ryan caught Francisco's flashing light. _Two flashes means ready to go, three means send them back. _Turning around and minding the pain in his face (he could feel the pain and itch of it healing, and the fact that the sweater/mask started to stick to his face didn't make it any better) he went through the same procedure, taking his flashlight, aiming its beam and using his hand to make it flash twice.

* * *

Hiding under a pile of leaves that she had pulled over herself, Girl # 11, Jenny Reese, caught Gus' signal and rotated her body, using her flashlight to signal twice.

* * *

Boy # 1, Carter James, caught the signal from the bush he was hiding in and used his flashlight to keep the message going. Carter sent it to Girl # 4, Katherine Farraday, as she hid in a tree of her own, while she sent it on to Boy # 21, Michael Baxter, who hid in some bushes about one hundred feet from the tree line. 

This wasn't Michael's scene, not in the slightest. He was tired and cynical, wondering what he was doing here. He didn't belong with the revolutionaries, he just did the whole SDS thing because Carter was his friend and Carter was usually good at talking Michael into doing crazy things. Instead, he became a revolutionary by default and was now an integral link in the chain. He didn't want to be here, he shouldn't be here, and by all odds he should've broken down by now and probably committed suicide.

Instead, he turned on his flashlight and pointed it towards Anna and her group, using his hand to flash it twice.

"Best hope god loves you guys," he muttered to himself, "'cause these guys sure ain't gonna."

* * *

With the chain of sentries over and done with, the ball was officially in Paul's court. He was nervous, but of course he would never let it show, no, never. He had Olderham's voice down, it wasn't all that hard. Southern, not too deep, not too high, with a twang that was more from Oklahoma than Texan. The voice didn't make Paul nervous, it was just that the whole situation was finally catching up to him. 

He had been assigned the chainsaw as his random weapon, and he couldn't have been happier. The chainsaw was a horror movie mainstay, used by the great, the true hero among all horror films, Ash J. Williams. It had given him power and energy more than he thought he could ever muster, as well as the will to make it through the rest of the game.

At least, so he thought. He considered playing the game at first, but seeing Brian beating on the Hawk sisters was more than enough to make him reconsider. He couldn't thrill kill, no, he had to do it to protect himself or those who needed the protecting. So, one rev of the chainsaw, one downward thrust and Brian was in several pieces. The gore had shocked him back into reality, that salty/bitter taste of Brian's blood as it sprayed into his mouth and eyes. It had put Paul into something of a waking battle shock, conscious and alert but unaware of anything. This wasn't his thing, he was a class clown, a funny guy. I'm not wearing any pants, film at eleven, things like that.

He was lucky that Lexie had the gun, but her catatonia had been a liability in those early hours. He couldn't believe that he had been rewarded for cutting another student in half, a guy who hours before, although a dick, was sitting not two seats away from Paul on the bus to Grad Nite.

Going into the SABRE group, he was led by his own cynicism. His cynicism and dark sense of humor kept him going, kept him from taking it all personal. It didn't, however, take him out of the fugue that had debilitated him since the moments after he killed Brian. He had already vomited once, and that definitely helped, but it was not enough. _It's almost like... Simon._

Shuddering, Paul thrust himself back into reality. He couldn't help but have the desire to help and provide for the others. He was part of a team now, something he never really had been before. If they kept him sane, so be it, though he would admit a particular fondness for Ashley. It's not that he actually had a thing for her, well, maybe a little, or maybe a lot, he didn't know, but she always knew how to kick ass and score the best drugs in town. Sure, she was one of the chicks in school that looked like a guy, but hey, she could be hot when she wanted to. More than anything else, he just wanted to take her away for a few minutes and make her say, "Hail to the king baby," but it would have to wait.

He cleared his throat, looking to the soldier in the boat. Paul felt bad for the guy really, he looked to be 19, maybe 20, not much older than any of them, but still on the wrong side. He was the enemy, they would have to fool and eventually probably kill him. Paul sighed, clearing his throat.

"Gawd dammit Briscoe, straighten up!" Paul yelled in near perfect imitation of Sgt. Olderham. They were at a safe enough distance that the sound wouldn't carry to the repair crew, so Paul felt it safe enough to take some creative liberties.

They watched as the soldier on the boat stumbled and looked off towards their position near the tree line, though of course he could see neither them nor the sergeant that Paul was mimicking.

"Sir?" the soldier asked at something of a yell.

"Work's a tough 'un here, we need some extra muscle," Paul yelled, definitely getting in on the act, "get your scrawny ass over here double time private!"

"Sir, I'm not supposed to leave the boat," Briscoe said defensively, though clearly letting his youth show through.

"I don't give a happy crappy what you're s'posed to do, orders is orders and I'm orderin you to get on over here!"

They could see him mull the decision over briefly, but within moments the soldier did get up and over the edge of the boat, wading in the surf towards the safety offered by the danger zone corridor. He pulled the sidearm out from its holster on his hip, holding it up defensively. Starting off in a light jog, he wandered down the winding path that would get him to the camera repair crew. With him away, they had maybe two or three minutes, four at the most, more than enough time with any luck.

His task done, Paul jogged deeper into the jungle, hiding in a nearby maintenance shed which they had nicknamed The Alamo. Once the mission was complete, they would all hide in the shed until the boat left before they would make it back to the mess hall. Paul would be the first to double back, followed by Ashley and then the three from the boarding party once they were complete. It was a good plan, whether or not it would work was still up in the air.

* * *

Anna, Lexie and Doug ran across the sandy beach and into the surf, plodding through the water and making their way to the boat. Their time was short, and they didn't have the room nor the time for error. Anna was in her element, cutting through the water as she splashed her way towards the boat, while Doug and Lexie stumbled a bit in the surf. Nevertheless, they managed, plodding their way towards a small ladder that led onto the boat. Anna was the first to climb aboard, bumping her head on the end of the M-60 machine gun. Cursing softly, she helped Lexie and Doug aboard the ship, pulling them up by the wrists and sending them on their way. The basic setup for the ship was simple, cargo and troop area in the back, pilothouse in the front. Anna quickly made a beeline for the front of the boat, while Doug and Lexie quietly started rooting through the living quarters. 

A laptop, a laptop was all Doug wanted to see. Be it cheap, high class, one with a remote, one with a mouse or one of those damned red balls or even that little pressure pad, he didn't care. He just needed a computer that could hook up to a phone line, or that he could at the very least hook up to a cell phone, so that he might hack into the government's systems. Take them on, screw them over, it would be easy.

Lexie was rooting through their supplies, making sure to put everything back in its place while also making sure not to break anything with the baseball bat she held. There were weapons here, lots of weapons. Rifles, pistols, grenades, satchel charges. There was a small row of what looked like cattle prods, but the end had a different prong configuration, with more plugs, a more muted shape and a bit wider, so she ignored them. Pulling open one cabinet, she found it held about six small boxes with plasma screens in a row, looking much like a GameBoy. She looked to Doug, waving it with a questioning look on her face.

'Take it' he mouthed. She nodded, jamming it into one of her pockets.

* * *

After maneuvering her way through the boat towards the boathouse, Anna had confirmed her hopes. No crew. One of the army guys was driving it more than likely, excellent. She snapped a quick picture using Jenny's Polaroid camera (something she had used a few times on the bus ride over and just held onto during the Battle Royale, which in itself was a bit of damned good luck.) Despite knowing a lot about pretty much everything, the controls to the boat may as well have been in a foreign language. There was a wheel, an old beer bottle and some skin magazines, but other than that, it was all boxes with lights and various switches. A radio squawked off to the side with some inane banter and code words between the other boats and troops who were watching the game. Anna simply snapped another picture, putting it in her backpack once it fell out of the camera. The darkness of the cabin was offset by the strobe burst of the camera's flashbulb, stunning Anna every time it went off, but she continued undaunted. 

A panel of display equipment. CLICK!

Nautical gauges. CLICK!

The radio. CLICK!

The wheel and other knobs. CLICK!

Anna smiled. Give her a few minutes, the pictures and an internet hookup (at least as Doug promised) and she could figure out how to drive the boat, no sweat.

CLICK!

* * *

Pvt. Briscoe, sidearm in hand, jogged through the corridor of red light that made up the danger zone and approached the repair area not too long after "Sgt. Olderham" had called for him. He could see the group, still working on the camera and with it almost entirely repaired. Luckily whoever had taken it on had smashed it entirely; instead of having to really take the camera apart, they simply needed to remove the remaining pieces, do a quick diagnosis and put the new camera in place. Easy money. 

Not but thirty feet from the group, Briscoe met eyes with Olderham who was visibly pissed off.

"Briscoe, what the fuck are you doin' off the boat?"

"You called for me sir," Briscoe said defensively, "said you needed help with the-"

"I did not call for your help you sorry ass little son of a bitch!"

"Yes you di-" Briscoe said, trying to stand up but getting shot down more and more every time he spoke.

"You calling me a liar?" Olderham asked with wild eyes.

"No sir!" Briscoe said as he backed down even more.

"Yes you did, I think you called me a liar!"

"No sir, no, I didn't!"

"Well evidently I am, you said I called for you, you sorry little sumbitch, but we have ourselves a disagreement over what's been discussed!"

"Sorry sir," Briscoe said, thoroughly confused and wondering what the hell was going on.

"In that case, back to the boat NOW!"

"Yes sir," Briscoe said with a curt nod, walking back down the corridor of red light bewildered and pissed off. Was he going crazy? Really? Could he be hearing things? No, really, could he be hearing things? No, can't be, psych evaluations said he was good... Something wasn't right, something wasn't god-damned right. Picking up the pace a bit, he picked up the pace as he walked back to the boat.

Had he looked to his right, Private Briscoe would have noticed a flashlight pulsing in three shot intervals, but luckily for Francisco, he did not.

* * *

Ashley caught the three flashes. One, two, three, white light. _Soldier's headed back. Shit!_

That was less time than they discussed, too small a window, there wasn't enough time, no, not enough time. Begrudgingly, she picked up the megaphone and lifted it high above her head with one hand and held the squelch button for three seconds.

No response from the boat. She bit her lip.

_Come on guys, hurry up._

* * *

Lexie caught the signal and quickly poked Doug in the ribs with her baseball bat. He nodded, quickly rooting around in the supply area with little success. Nothing, not a god-damned thing. Guns, bombs, all stuff they could use but couldn't take, those would definitely be missed. Replacement parts, cameras, speakers, nothing, absolutely nothing that they could use or take that wouldn't be missed. 

Pulling open one more cabinet, Doug kept rifling around. Lexie poked him in the ribs with the bat more urgently.

'Hurry up!' she mouthed.

He shooed her away as Anna entered the room. She looked around and pulled Doug up by the collar. Quickly swinging his hand, he pushed her arm away. It had to be there, it had to! The techies couldn't have taken all the laptops, there just had to be another, there had to!

Pulling open one more cabinet, he sighted something that looked like a three-ring-binder. Lifting it, he felt the weight to it that was not paper, it had to be-

Anna wrenched his arm practically out of its socket, pulling him to the back of the boat. The three ran with their plundered supplies and information, running to the boat's open rear.

As luck would have it, they were just in time to see Pvt. Briscoe exit the tree line at the end of the red danger zone.

* * *

Ashley could see them finally moving their asses, but she could also hear the soldier crowding his way through the jungle. Twigs would snap, vines would tear, he was anything but subtle. U.S. Army, eat your heart out, take on SABRE any day. 

He was getting close, very close, and near enough to the tree line that he would be able to see the three from the boarding party in the back of the boat. No, no, that couldn't happen. Not now, not ever.

Resigning herself to doing something incredibly stupid, Ashley held the megaphone over her head and pressed the squelch button for two seconds, letting out with a metallic and artificial squeal.

Turning his head, the soldier looked her way, and she took off sprinting, dropping the megaphone and trying to make as much noise as it would take to distract the soldier. It worked.

* * *

Pvt. Briscoe wheeled the moment he heard the electronic squeal. He could see the dark outline of a figure running away through the jungle, hearing as they crashed through the underbrush. 

All of a sudden it became so clear, it wasn't the sergeant, just one of the kids in the program fucking with him. He held his gun high. No, no, he couldn't kill them, no, that would get him killed too. He looked over one shoulder, couldn't see the repair crew. Over the other, he saw the boat, empty and lit as ever, it was still safe.

Shooting one of the contestants, injuring them in self-defense, that was perfectly within the rules...

* * *

Anna, Lexie and Doug plodded through the waist deep water, trying to keep as low as possible. The surf lapped at their chests, splashing them and thoroughly soaking them, but the sacrifices they had to make to stay alive were more than worthwhile. They held their backpacks over their heads, trying to keep their spoils of war dry and themselves out of sight, it was not an easy combination. 

Anna had seen Ashley's brave, if foolish attempt to save their asses, and to be perfectly honest she doubted Ashley would get out of it alive. Anna admired it and was glad that they would live to see the day, but cover did need to be found. The three waded in the opposite direction of Ashley's mad dash, finding themselves cover among some boulders near shore. They could see the boat and the end of the danger zone's red territory, but Ashley's fate was unknown.

"Come on Ash," Anna whispered to herself, "you can do this."

* * *

Running quickly, Ashley bounded around the side of The Alamo and pushed the door open. Inside, Paul lifted his chainsaw defensively, but put it down as soon as the woman entered the room. 

"Ain't safe yet," Ashley whispered quickly as she checked the barrel of her shotgun, "keep quiet if you know what's good for ya."

Paul nodded and backed into one of the shed's dark corners, while Ashley kept close to the entrance. She kept her back to the wall next to the door, holding the shotgun in both hands and blindly checking the shotgun once more. Both barrels loaded, good. She pulled both hammers back, ready to put the sawed-off into use.

The soldier was right behind her, she knew it. Shooting him would point her out to the higher ups, and in all likelihood would involve them detonating her belt and cutting her in half... But, it would save the others. Paul, if he kept his ass hidden would be ok, and with any luck, Anna and the rest would be able to pull off the escape.

Footsteps. Outside. She could hear them well, trying to be stealthy but unable to maintain silence with the leaves covering the ground as they did.

She lifted the shotgun with her right arm, bracing it strongly. She held the weapon at an angle that would use her shoulders as a shock absorber, and keeping it at head height to ensure a kill. Just like Lisa earlier, explode the head like a ripe melon.

The footsteps stopped, confused, looking for the source of the sound. He was directly on the other side of the wall that Ashley was braced against, no more than three feet away. All he had to do was push the door open, step in, turn his head and he would see her. Then again, she wouldn't allow him the chance to turn his head.

He was there, on the other side. Push the door open, come on, push the door open. Ashley repeated the mantra in her head. _Come on, push the door open. Open the door, show your head. Come on! Come on! So you think that teaching kids from an early age that violence is the solution to problems will make them valuable members of our society? Try it on for size. Come on, open the door._

She could see a hand press on the door, with another one next to it holding a gun. One more step and you're mine, Ashley thought grimly, just one more step...

"Briscoe!" the southern voice yelled from outside, "where in the hoot in hell are you maggot?"

The figure at the door pulled back, disappearing from the frame.

"Shit," she heard the voice at the door say in a low voice, then louder, "over here sir!"

"Here's not where you's s'posed to be private, get your ass over here!" Olderham yelled from a distance.

"God damn it," Briscoe said from the other side of the door, backing away and running back towards the sergeant.

Hiding in the darkness of the shed, Ashley and Paul listened. They listened as the soldiers geared up, Olderham chewed out Briscoe even more, and the soldiers got the boat in gear. Within minutes, the engines were revved up, and they could hear the boat turning away.

Moments later, silence. They could hear the wind and the sounds of the jungle insects, both constant noises that they had almost blocked out by now. Nothing otherwise.

There was a quick rustling sound, followed by silence. Footsteps. Breathing. Ashley rotated her position, standing in front of the door with the shotgun at chest height. Paul came up behind her, holding his chainsaw in both hands, ready at the very least to use it as a bludgeon. Both warriors prepared to strike, standing at the ready as the door creaked open...

...and in the doorframe stood Anna, Lexie and Doug. Anna stood with a smile wide enough to cut her face in half and didn't even flinch at the sight of a double-barreled sawed-off right in her face.

"We're in," she said.


	25. Hour 20: 37 Contestants Remaining

Hour 20

37 Contestants Remaining

A strange and near-strangled voice garbled out a song about fifty yards from the edge of the airfield. The voice was as contorted as it's owner, who for quite some time now had been suspended partway up a tree and had lost circulation to most of his extremities. The person who had suspended and tied him in this awkward pose intended to tie him loosely enough to escape, but being tied up and hanging from a tree branch didn't allow the boy much strength to escape. He tried to remember the words to the song he was singing, the words coming sporadically into his mind as he came back into lucidity.

"_Now, if you're blue_

_And you don't know where to go to_

_Why don't you go where fashion sits..."_

He snapped his fingers on his right hand (the left one had long since gone numb and was probably dead by now) twice, then letting out an even more strangled, _"Puttin' on the Ritz!"_

_Young Frankenstein, good movie. That was the Saturday night midnight movie at the Rialto last week, right?_ Josh Peters, a.k.a. Boy # 6 really didn't know. The threat of imminent death seemed so small right now compared to the idlest thoughts of things gone by.

He shouldn't be here. None of them should have of course, this was all just so wrong on so many levels, but since he had to be here he might as well have made the most of it. Then again, making the most of it in Josh's eyes would be getting one of the hotties, like Lori or Brynn or Serenity, a bottle of wine and just screw 'til the belts blew up.

However, Josh's way with women left a lot to be desired, and the fact that he remained a virgin really didn't help anyone. But he could dream, couldn't he?

He sighed, letting his mind wander. He had attacked Francisco Marquez, a.k.a. Boy # 22, earlier on in the day, around morning time actually. He remembered it was sunny, but not too sunny, and oppressively hot and humid. Now it was dark, dark as night, and cool, very cool. Josh could feel the change in the air, much of the humidity disappearing as the evening wore on, replaced by cool air. Moonlight had shown through the trees every so often, creating a pleasant dappled pattern across his face, but every so often a cloud would roll in and block out the moon. Things cooling off, air getting drier, clouds coming in. Yup, looks like a storm.

He jerked his head again, to no avail. He was still tied up and tied up tight. Francisco Marquez, nice guy, didn't kill Josh. Josh was grateful that the big man didn't kill him, but he may as well be dead anyway. Francisco had been kind enough to hog-tie Josh and hang him upside down from a tree with duct tape, creating an odd sort of silvery cocoon to anyone walking by. Josh was a sitting duck, gonna be killed by the first person who wanders by and wants to take a crack at him.

Josh sighed again. He probably should've just tried talking to Francisco, not trying to kill him. Twice. I mean, words were usually his weapon, quick wit saving him more than his stick figure body could, right? He was never really able to put up much of a fight, and he could never really hurt anyone. He was just a kind and funny kid most of the time, only really attacking Francisco out of fear. He never, ever wanted to hurt anyone if he couldn't help it, and he never had either.

_Well, there was that one time... but that was all a practical joke that went way, way, way too awry, that didn't count in hurting people. Right?_

* * *

It was prom, good old times to many, incredibly boring by Josh's standards. He'd worn his disco leisure suit, not quite Travolta, but close enough and was planning on doing his goofy dancing for the sake of attention. No one noticed after an hour and no one cared, most of the girls just dismissing him and laughing. Bah! They don't get high class humor. 

So, when life gives one lemons, one makes lemonade. Josh had wandered around the hall, looking for some way that he could wreak havoc and make the party interesting, or at least give people memories outside of being groped by each other. So, finding a side hall that ran perpendicular to the main hall, directly across from the DJ, Josh snuck away. Two people ran down the hall, hiding in a nearby closet (probably to screw or something), while that big guy, Jeremy, came chasing after, looking around wildly. Crazy SOB.

Looking around deftly, making sure no one could see him, Josh found his target. Success! A small plastic bubble, clear, sticking out of the wall. He looked around once more. "I Melt With You" was playing, everyone dancing, none were the wiser. He pulled it to the side, and reached to the lever inside. With one swift pull, the piercing shriek of a fire alarm echoed through the room, causing Josh to cover his ears and everyone around to run around. Ten seconds later the sprinklers exploded, soaking everyone in their fine prom tuxes and gowns, girls and guys screaming and running around in the chaos. It was fun, it was a joke, and more than a few people were actually laughing at it.

Then the water had soaked through some of the cords at the DJ's table, erupting in a loud burst of static and a metallic squeal of feedback over the speakers. Sparks burst around as the DJ stood in place, shaking as if doing a strange dance that required a clenched jaw. Even at a distance Josh could see his muscles strained to the max and his eyes bulging as he shook, electrocuted as the water from the sprinklers soaked him and the gear. With another explosion from the equipment, three students were downed by a pulse of electricity, while the DJ was knocked into a table, spilling CD's and equipment everywhere. It was then that the lights went out.

Four people had been electrocuted by Josh's stunt, none killed luckily, and one person broke a leg while trying to escape. It was like Carrie, minus the blood and death, and Josh felt horrible for it. He couldn't hurt people, he didn't want to hurt people, but he always wound up doing it or being put in a situation where it happened.

* * *

Tied up in his contorted position, he looked around, hearing noises. _Nothing, just a rapping at my door, only this and nothing more._ He smiled grimly, no, it truly was nothing. Trees, bugs, winds, bird, a faint thundercrack very far away. _ Oh for the days of simple pleasures, I want a Coke. They're magically delicious!_

Shaking his head again, Josh knew it. He was hallucinating. His odd position had impeded or altered circulation to his brain and extremities. Sure, he knew that at least one of his feet was probably dead and would have to be cut off when and if he made it out (which really wasn't looking all that likely at the moment). _Brain damage? Can the brain get damaged from too much blood? No, no, that ain't possible, but it can really screw you up probably._

He opened his eyes to a strange flash of light, no, just the eyes getting adjusted, though one distinct image, almost black and white. Looked like a crime scene photo even. Four shadows, distinct shapes, the human form unmistakable. There were four, definitely four. _Definitely four, heh, you sound like Rain Man now. Good movie though. Yeah, four outlines, definitely four. Four people... No, it couldn't be. Can't be the four people ya electrocuted, they aren't even here, are they? _Well, one was Nick, but he was killed before the game started, so that didn't even count. With the blood pushing its way through his head as it did, it didn't seem to be that hard to believe. The four people who he had zapped before were out to get him, and he wasn't one to defend himself from their attack. He had hurt them, and he deserved what he got.

One rushed forward.

_Bring it_, Josh thought.

* * *

With a dull CRACK, the butt of Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23's, shotgun smashed itself into Josh's nose. The cartilage shattered instantly, crushing the nose inwards and spraying blood every which way. Josh was shocked back into reality, letting out only a dull moan in pain. His vision had cleared up instantly, and the view was none too pretty. The four shadows had suddenly cleared up, and Josh was in a nightmare situation. 

First and foremost there was Joel Giovanello, wrestling team captain and all around son of a bitch. He prided himself in his Italian heritage, down to the old world values of treating women like garbage and getting drunk whenever he saw it fit. He was one of those guys in school who was a jerk to nearly everyone, yet charismatic at the same time. He had a way with women that was a mystery to many, he treated them poorly, openly threatened them, and yet they still flocked to him and followed his every step. He was into blondes with "great yabbo's and no brains," and the way it went, they came to him.

Violence was not a foreign concept to Joel, nor was needless cruelty. If the shotgun he had was any indication, Joel would be one to fear in the "game" of Battle Royale.

Nearest to him stood Mike Vriess, a.k.a. Boy # 13, a.k.a. Big V. Big V was nowhere near as large as his name might indicate, in fact quite small. He was wiry and energetic with a grin that was as crooked as it was frightening at the moment. He was enthusiastic when it came to pain, wrestling only for the sake of bringing pain to his opponents. He had been kicked out match in and match out, only remaining on the team because he was vocal enough and his arguments good enough to the point where he could convince his coach of nearly anything. He would often be seen smiling his crooked smile going into and out of wrestling matches, knowing that he could hurt someone soon. Offensively he was a great warrior, while defensively no one could match his way with words. He knew how to get information through a system of friends and snitches, and if he could not hurt you physically, he was rather fond of blackmail and extortion. Pain through information, that was his definition of fun.

He was Joel's toadie, his second-in-command. He would call Joel Boss (and make sure all the others did), and Joel wouldn't kick the crap out of him, it was a good deal.

He carried in his hands a long bicycle chain, 15 feet give or take by its appearance and loops. Although Josh himself could not see it (Josh couldn't see quite a bit, though it was probably for the best that he could not), Big V had fastened the straight razor that Blake had killed himself with to the chain, making it into a frightening mace-like weapon.

Next to Big V stood his partner in crime, Karen Peterson, a.k.a. Girl # 10. Besides the title, very little could discern Karen as a girl. She drank, she cussed, she spat, she kicked the crap out of anyone who got in her way. Early on she had tried out for basketball, but when the coach got on her case for poor footwork, she knocked him to the floor and broke his jaw. Odds were that she would have been arrested for it, but since during his hospital stay it was revealed that the coach was known to molest some of the female students, Karen was never charged. So, she shot up the steroids and joined wrestling instead, winning awards to break other people.

Towards men she was known to be rather hostile, and in general a cold hard bitch. Perhaps it came from the fact that she was about as militant a lesbian as they come, perhaps it came from the steroids, perhaps it was just the fact that she wasn't a very happy person. Karen loathed men and fought against them to show her strength. Her one exception was Big V himself, his way with words and latent immaturity charming her to no end and remaining one of the few things that could make her smile. Then again, Karen and Mike smiling at the same time was generally a time to be afraid.

She stood without smile in a cold, hard stare, holding in her hands what appeared to be a spear. Its shiny metal tip glinted lightly against the moon.

Last, but certainly not least, stood Shane Raynor, a.k.a. Boy # 16. By appearance, it was obvious that Shane wasn't the brightest bulb in the circuit. He had a large frame with a small head, always with vacant eyes and a smile that told you he had no clue what was really going on in the world. Truth be told, he didn't, deferring whatever decisions really needed to be made to those he trusted. He trusted Joel, Karen, Mike and Bo, they were his friends. They were the best friends that he had ever had, since they didn't mind that he was really 21 years old, still in high school because of his far below average IQ. He didn't know that they were using him, that they could've cared less whether or not he lived or died. He was just the guy they used whenever they'd get in brawls with students from other schools. He was a tank, and he could knock them about easily. He'd do anything to defend his friends. Besides, they gave him candy.

So, long story short, Josh was afraid.

"Hey Josh my man," Joel said as he cradled the shotgun in his hands, "how's it hangin?"

He smiled genuinely in a way that frightened Josh, getting Mike to giggle.

"Hurts," Josh said weakly.

"Gonna hurt a lot more," Joel said malevolently, "but you knew that already, didn't you?"

As Josh looked about in a daze, he couldn't answer. He opened and closed his mouth slowly like a trout, the words unable to come from his mouth. Joel looked on with malevolent glee, swinging the stock of the shotgun back to connect with Josh's face. With another crack, Josh cried out in pain.

"I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?" Joel asked as Josh coughed up blood and some teeth, "Or just your nose? I asked you a question. You knew that already, didn't you?"

"Yes!" Josh said as he licked at the gums where his broken teeth were. He coughed more, spraying blood across the duct tape that held him cocooned.

"Good," Joel said, "now we're getting somewhere. Now, who did this to you?"

"Why?" Josh asked as blood streamed from the corners of his mouth.

"Wrong answer," Joel said with a wry grin, swinging the shotgun like a golf club and connecting with Josh's ribs. A crack could be heard, probably from the three ribs that Joel broke.

"Now," Joel mentioned with a smile, "if I ask you a question, you answer the question. If you don't answer the question, I break you more. We on the same page?"

Wheezing and with little voice, Josh responded, "Yes."

"Very good, we're making progress here," Joel said smiling, "progress is good, ain't that right guys?"

With his posse nodding around him, Joel smiled and looked back to the confined Josh.

"Now, whoever did this to you does not want to play this game, otherwise they would've killed you outright. I personally would like to know who is not playing the game, since those people, much like yourself right now, make the easy kills. So, let me ask again, who did this to you?"

"Francisco," Josh muttered through broken teeth and with little voice, "Frankie, big guy. He doesn't think he can kill anyone."

"So The Tank can't kill," Joel said with a wide smile as he shook his head, "the guy who split my fucking face isn't playing the game. That's good stuff, good stuff short one. Now, I'd honestly like to repay you for your information, but..."

He motioned for Karen and Big V to come forward, his two lieutenants doing so quite willingly.

"This is probably going to hurt," Joel said as he slung the shotgun over his shoulder, "a lot. We got some new weapons we wanna try out, and you make a damned good guinea pig."

Kneeling down, Joel did perhaps the most merciful thing he'd ever done in his admittedly cruel life. He picked up a stick from the ground and thrust it into Josh's mouth, creating a very effective bite stick as the wounded boys eyes went wide.

As he stepped away, Mike stepped forward with a malevolent grin. Holding the chain in hand, he began to swing it around, building up momentum. Getting up a good speed, he swung the bladed end of the chain towards Josh and sliced deeply into the flesh of his side. Josh tried to cry out in pain, but the stick between his jaws prevented him from doing much more than thrash about in his bindings, swinging around like a leaf in a heavy breeze. As he pulled the blade back, Mike swung the chain again, carving a swath of red into Josh's scalp. A large piece of his forehead fell to the ground as blood filled his eyes.

"Hey, come on, it's my turn!" Karen said enthusiastically, cracking one of her first smiles.

Seeing this, Mike swung out the chain, using the razor blade and the chain to lock it around Josh's neck in a grotesque noose. Using much of his strength, Mike pulled Josh forward and closer to allow Karen an easier strike. She lashed out quickly, stabbing Josh four times quickly in the belly with her spear. By this time, blood started to flow freely from the injured man, dripping to the ground and splattering the green leaves a bright red color.

"What's happenin fellas?" Shane asked finally, "You hurtin him?"

Shane looked on with no clue as to what was going on. He saw them hitting the silver talking thing, hitting it with the chain and the sharp thing, but didn't know what it was. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't put two and two together, but Shane did trust Joel and Mikey and Karen sublimely. They always were doing the right thing.

"No," Joel said with a smile, "we're not hurting it. It's a party! This is our piñata, it's your turn. You want to try and break it open?"

"There's candy inside?" Shane asked with a wide grin.

"You betcha," Joel said, breaking a limb off of a nearby tree and handing it to Shane, "it's your turn, go at it!"

With a wide smile, Shane held the large branch in hand and ambled on over to the mass that was Josh Peters. Josh looked on with wild and frightened eyes, grunting and groaning, fighting against his restraints to no avail as blood still flowed from his head and belly. Shane came up close and fast, gleefully using all of his muscle to smash the branch into Josh. He swung time and time again with a wide grin and giggling all the way, breaking both of Josh's arms, more of his ribs and fracturing his pelvis with his continued blows. He hit more and more, with greater force each time. After one powerful blow where he drew his arms all the way back, he broke the tape that held Josh to the tree and sent the battered and broken man to the ground. Shane then ran up with a smile, raising the tree limb above his head and cracking Josh on the ground with it.

When the limb broke in half, Shane looked to Joel with confusion and tears in his eyes.

"It, it broke!" Shane moaned.

"It's ok," Joel said as he looked onto Josh, "you did good."

"But, but I didn't get the candy!" Shane wailed, "I wanted to get the candy!"

"Mike's got some candy," Joel nodded, "right Big V?"

Keeping up with the enthusiastic tone that one would use when talking to a small child, Mike said, "Yeah, I've got candy for ya Shane!"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a half-full container of Tic Tacs and handed it to Shane. Shane ambled off giggling with his prize, walking off into the bushes with his "candy" and filling his mouth with the minty capsules.

"So what do we do about that?" Karen asked as she motioned to Josh. He looked up with dim, glazed over eyes, almost as if looking for mercy from his attackers. His mouth hung open limply, sucking in air in a light whistle. With little compunction, Joel swung the shotgun down, chambered a round and fired into Josh's side, severing his spine and killing him instantly.

"About what?" Joel asked, his smile disappearing, "Come on, let's go. Shane, come on, we're headed back to camp!"

Shane rejoined the group behind Joel, Karen and Mike, happier than he had been in a long time. The thundering boom of Joel's shotgun had scared him, but he knew it would be ok. Joel was here, Joel would keep things safe.

Shane himself wasn't the only one feeling safe, in fact, all the wrestlers had a sense of security.

Joel was king of the world, and knew it.

Karen and Mike had their own secret alliance, prepared to kill Joel as soon as the numbers allowed.

And Jacob Escobar, a.k.a. Boy # 10, who had been following the wrestler's since the beginning of the game, was prepared to strike and kill off all them in one fell stroke.


	26. Hour 21: 36 Contestants Remaining

Hour 21

36 Contestants Remaining

The attack was quick and merciless. He had snuck up from behind, making it easy. Too easy. Butcher knife in hand, he ran it across Mike's throat, killing him in a spray of blood as he gargled out one final yell. He pulled the gun from Mike's belt, quickly aiming and firing off three shots, one knocking the shotgun from Joel's hands, the next hitting Karen in the chest and the other landing in Shane's face between the eyes. Joel backed away, pleading for his life, waving his hands before him defensively.

"Please, please don't kill me!" he hollered in defense.

The attacker just laughed. He didn't even need point the gun at Joel. Lifting his free hand, he snapped a finger, exploding Joel's heart instantly and collapsing him to the floor.

It was easy, and it was beautiful.

* * *

A mosquito lighted on the back of his neck, biting in and shocking him back to reality. The hunter sighed, looking on at his quarry from a distance of about fifty, maybe sixty feet away. They were all still very much alive, all still very much not caring about how visible they were, and all still sick bastards. At least the fantasy was nice. 

Revenge is indeed a dish best served cold.

So it was clichéd, it had been said a few million times by a few million different people, attributed to everyone from Shakespeare and the Klingons, but it seemed to be very true. Even if it was clichéd, who the fuck cared? Professional wrestling was made to be clichéd, and if there was one thing that Jacob Escobar, a.k.a. Boy # 10, knew, it was wrestling. Be it the insides, outsides, ups and downs, he knew it all. At over six feet tall and two hundred and ten pounds of near-solid muscle, Jacob was a frightening spectacle and a force to be reckoned with on any given field of battle. The tattoos and scars that covered his chest, stomach and arms were more than enough indication of his capabilities to the easily frightened, and given the rumor that had it that he was once been stabbed in a gang fightand had killed the guy who did it with his bare hands, very few chose to mess with him.

Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, and he would often scoff at the false reputation as a gangbanger that most had attached to him. There was no way he'd have ever been in a street gang; gangs were for losers. Gangs were for the individuals pitiful enough to need the help of others to make their survival, for those not strong enough to make it on their own. They say that strength comes in numbers, but no, no, strength, true strength comes from within. Numbers only serve to be a liability, and in the end will wind up destroying all that the individual had created. So Jacob believed and kept as his own philosophy on life. _I believe in one man..._

Some may have said that Jacob was a hardass and a loner, and they would have probably been right. Jacob did often do things on his own, he was prone to fights and his look was one that looked to be much older than any eighteen-year-old deserved to look. He had broken numerous bones within the past three years, and tattoos almost covered his body. Barbed wire encircled his left arm, while his right showcased a half-naked woman in a sombrero standing next to the Angel of Death. His chest was a patchwork of playing cards, Mexican proverbs and a bullwhip encircling a half-opened straight razor. Some of them may have been cheesy, some of them may have been in poor taste, but nothing would have stopped him from getting any one of them. As he saw it, nothing else would befit the best backyard wrestler this side of SoCal.

He played in a sport that was as dangerous as it was illegal, but Jacob didn't mind. In it, he got to be a star, and he got to fight the real fights. None of this grappling and pinning, no, that was for the pussies who did the so-called Olympic style wrestling, the kind that was done in schools and competitions. That was the game that was done in teams...

Jacob had tried out for a team once. Wrestling as it may be, freshman year. He had loved watching the sport on TV as a kid, posters of Hulk Hogan, The Ultimate Warrior and Andre the Giant covering the walls of his room. He was thinner then, gawkier and more of a kid than he appeared to be now. He wasn't popular, but he wasn't unpopular either. He was just there. While he wasn't the strongest of kids around, he passed the physicals and made it into a lower spot on the JV team, but he was having fun. His record was full of more wins than losses, and it was great.

Then came Joel Giovanello.

Joel got what Joel wanted anyway he felt he could, and for anyone in his way, that was bad news. He was a bully and a fighter, intimidating whoever he felt and maintaining a pretty good record of extortion. With the money and his big mouth, it came easy.

When he wanted to get onto the wrestling team (well, it wasn't so much a want as a requirement; therapy said getting a sport would help him with his anger issues), it seemed only natural that he get a place on the team because it was what he wanted. The only problem was the fact that there were no open spots.

Unfortunately as things happened to be, Jacob was one of the few people who was not intimidated by Joel. He saw him for what he really was, just the short Italian with a big mouth, a wad of cash, and the urge to kick the crap out of anyone who got in his way. Jacob, in his quiet way, could easily avoid the wrath of one Joel Giovanello, using his strong presence to defend or even knock away Joel's force.

So, it was no coincidence, at least in Jacob's mind, that one day they discovered a bag of marijuana in his gym locker. Jacob had fought to the very end, but it was of no use. None of his teammates would come to his defense, none of them would speak up on his behalf. They knew where the drugs really came from, and out of fear none of them would speak up. Nobody got in the way of Joel Giovanello. Nobody.

_Fuckin pussies._

They had turned their back on Jacob, so much for the fuckin teamwork. He was going to be a real wrestler anyway, not this Olympic-style wrestling they taught in school. No, he was going to take part in the real sport, where people really got hurt, and character was character. It was as much theatrical as it was a blood sport, and Jacob was all for the theatrics.

So, thin and gawky Jacob had forced himself through a massive physical transformation. He had begun to bulk up, packing on the pounds and transforming them into solid muscle. One by one he added tattoos to his body, painting designs to make him a more frightening spectacle.

And then he found his sport.

Backyard wrestling, as close as it got to the real thing. Neighborhood teens all around, usually the redneck crowd, would battle it out in backyards. Unlike the stuff on TV, the hits were real. Tables would shatter, chairs would break over a person's head, and bottles were broken on a regular basis. Jacob had fallen on a piece of rebar once, stabbing it through his shoulder and giving him one of his favorite scars. Not that he minded really, it made for great stories and gave bragging rights to have earned it in a gang fight. The added revenue of selling tapes on the internet of the sport was icing on the cake, making Jacob and his associates quite a bit of money on the side.

But that was all out of his mind as he wandered in the Battle Royale. Past life aside, there was nothing else that mattered now. As far as he was concerned, his world was made up of nothing more than him, the butcher's knife he had been assigned at random, and the wrestlers. He had followed them, always hiding in bushes or climbing in trees, stealthy as a panther while they were as subtle as a herd of elephants. With any luck, the predator-prey relationship would soon be realized... Joel would pay, and he would suffer until his very last breath. Jacob would make sure of it.

Sitting in a tree, maybe sixty feet from the wrestlers now, but still quite capable of seeing them (they all had their flashlights on, something Jacob caught as incredibly stupid), Jacob watched. They had taken a break after murdering Josh, eating from their MRE's, drinking from their water bottles and telling stories of their kill. They were laughing and joking about their exploits, Karen punching Big V in the shoulder as Joel proposed a toast with their water bottles. Disgusting, simply disgusting.

He could strike at any moment and probably get them easily. Run up behind Joel, stab him twice or maybe just slit his throat, grab the shotgun and take out the rest. He was the one with the guns, so it wouldn't be difficult, but no, he couldn't do that. He wanted to wait until the gang was complete. Get Joel, Mike, Karen, Bo, Shane and CC together so he could do something of his own little massacre. Jacob smiled at the thought, running his finger lightly along the blade of his knife.

A noise caught Jacob off guard. _Human, definitely, moving around and not being too subtle about it._ The wrestlers hadn't caught on, but Jacob could see the figure quite well.

The figure moved cautiously, searching around, but by no means gracefully or stealthily. He snapped twigs, stumbled over tree roots and sifted through the piles of leaves on the ground, making all sorts of noise that could be heard above the wind. _Shut up foo, you gonna get us both killed!_ From his spot in the tree, Jacob could see the wrestlers start to move around, closer... _Do or die time baby, get it done._

Deftly sliding down the tree's trunk, he snuck up behind the figure that walked below and used one of his large hands to cover up their mouth from behind. The person stiffened up instantly and prepared to strike, causing Jacob to whisper quickly as he tightened his grasp.

"Shut the fuck up if you know what's good for you, dangerous people around here b'sides me, now I don't wanna kill ya, if I take my hand off you promise not to yell and run and shit like that that'd get us both to die? You make noise I'll snap yo neck in two like a twig, aight?"

Once the person nodded, Jacob prepared to remove his hand. He was stopped suddenly as the noise from the wrestlers approached. _No, they're getting closer._ Jacob used his massive hand to cover the other person's mouth again even tighter.

Both watched as Joel with his shotgun and Karen with her spear started walking over with their flashlights held high. Jacob swung himself and the figure behind a larger tree to receive what little cover was offered.

"You hear something?" Karen asked, swinging her flashlight in an arc.

"Not sure," Joel responded, swinging his light around, passing over the tree that Jacob and his captive hid behind.

They could see the lights falter as they moved away. Jacob was getting ready to take a breath, but the shattering boom of Joel's shotgun cut that one short. As it echoed, Jacob held his breath and the hand over his captives mouth tighter, while the blast itself took out a large chunk of a nearby tree. Flecks of bark and tree matter hit Jacob in the face, making him flinch only slightly.

With the danger past, Jacob removed his hand from the figure's mouth. They turned around slowly, letting Jacob see who he had held captive.

"What the f-" Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15, said as Jacob held two fingers to his lips. Jacob noticed the gun tucked into the front of Matt's pants, even though he held a skateboard tied to a rope or something like that in hand. Matt was one of the few people in Braiwood High whom Jacob could understand and relate to on some level, and although they weren't friends in the traditional sense, there was always an unspoken, mutual respect. Both had their sports on the fringe, Matt his skateboarding, Jacob his backyard wrestling, and in that respect they almost considered each other to be fellow warriors. Almost.

"I ain't gonna kill you if I don't have to," Jacob whispered harshly, "my gripe ain't with you, it's with the assholes over there."

"Have you seen Lexie?" Matt asked aloud.

Jacob immediately held two fingers over his lips and whispered harshly.

"Rule number one when you're following someone, stay quiet, stay hidden. Do you understand rule number one?

Matt simply nodded.

"Good. They're some bad people over there," Jacob whispered, "some of the worst. Here in this game, they're the cream of the crop. They have no mercy, and would take out someone like you for a crime as simple as talking too loud. They're thrill killers, they aren't playing this game for the sake of the game; they're just killing to kill."

Matt looked on in confusion, letting Jacob continue as he stared absently into the distance. Jacob took a puff off his cigarette and grimaced.

"I myself am playing the game here," Jacob said, "but people here need themselves a fighting chance for this to be any good. There's no challenge if it's a one-sided slaughter by that army of fucks, it's no competition."

Jacob sighed, looking to Matt's gun and then to Matt.

"You can go away and kill me for alls I know, but if you do, know that it would be a grave mistake on your part. If however you don't kill me, I promise you skater I'll make everyone's lives easier, including yours and your friends. I'll catch you when the numbers are down, and we'll have the battle of battles. Does that work for you?"

Matt silently nodded once more. Matt's hesitation was clear to Jacob, but given the fact that he hadn't once gone for the gun in his belt, it was likely he wasn't going to.

"I haven't seen your girl," Jacob mentioned finally, "but I wish you the best along your way. Good luck finding her, and god's speed. Vayo con dios man."

He smiled grimly.

"I'll see you soon."

Matt backed off as he walked away from Jacob, disappearing into the darkness half-afraid, half respectful. Jacob had to laugh.

_Matt, a fool in love. He's a dead man. He's a good man, but he's a dead man._ Tossing his cigarette to the ground, Jacob crushed it out.

They were on the move again, finished with their MRE's and their bottled water. _Sure, torturing a defenseless SOB would make ya hungry, there's nothing like giving them a fighting chance._ _There's no competition, there's no real fight in killing a guy who can't fight back. That's not murder, hell, that's not even a real kill, that's just cheap bullying._

Holding his knife to the side, Jacob followed at a respectable distance. The wrestlers for the most part weren't bad people really, most of them were just the average high school jocks who did what they did because they really enjoyed doing it or needed the scholarships. Hell, even Bo, who was one of Joel's posse was an ok guy. Jacob had even played rugby with him a couple times. _Gotta love those Brits, they know how to do team sports right._

No, no, Joel, Big V and Karen were the worst of the worst. Not only were they just bad human beings, they were the worst of what high school had to offer. Why? They were the worst because they made all the stereotypes true. They were the epitome, the classic definition of all that was wrong with the high school crowd. Joel, was a bully, an alcoholic, a womanizer and an abuser. He had ruined Jacob's life, so it made it easy to end his. Mike was his toadie, his second in command who just picked up the remains and treated them as if they were gold. Karen was the lesbo with something to prove, the one who thought muscles equated to who she was, when in reality they just proved her overcompensation. They were scum, the lowest of the low. Some might say that their treatment of Josh would be more indication of it, but no, their treatment of Shane was more than enough proof. He was a big guy who really didn't know any better, a guy who trusted people who he thought were nice to him. Jacob sighed inside. He'd have to make Shane's death quick, that much was guaranteed.

Crouching low, he crawled through the tall grass and bushes that had grown through the runway of the airfield. Going out in the open was a gamble, but the tall grass provided him with perfect protection and the perfect blind. The wrestlers moved along the tree line, headed back to base.

Stroking his knife once more, Jacob held it tight in his hand. He traced a small arc with it before putting it back into his bag. The knife, although intended for the kitchen, was a thing of beauty as far as Jacob was concerned. Nice, wide blade, good grip, good balance, a very solid weapon. Not really made for knife fights, but it'd do until something else came up and took it's place. _A gun maybe? Bazooka would be nice, but that cop shotgun Joel's got ain't too bad..._

Protection is good, but some things take precedence. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of Laramie's and shaking out one cigarette. He put it between his lips before pocketing the pack and pulling out his disposable lighter.

He watched as the four started to move in silence, heading back to camp by the looks of the compass. Jacob smiled. They'd be easy to take out while resting, stab one or two, grab a gun and take 'em all out. He was a better fighter than all of them put together. It'd be easy.

Testing the wind with his finger, he made sure it was blowing the opposite direction of the wrestlers before continuing. It was. _Excellent._ He brought the lighter up towards his mouth, spinning the wheel and getting a small flame. Instinctively he cupped his hand around the flame so that the breeze might not blow it out. It'd all be easy.

The sound didn't have time to register with Jacob, but a muffled pop in the distance signified the rifle shot that tore through his fingers, went through his skull and effectively emptied the back of his head, killing him instantly. His large frame fell to the ground, twitching uncontrollably for a few seconds before lying down very dead.

* * *

Having fired at and missed several students as they passed by during the day, Marie Cooper, a.k.a. Girl # 21 was getting a bit frustrated. However, seeing the flame from Jacob's cigarette lighter came as a beacon through the night, allowing her a perfect line of sight. Sure, that group had their flashlights on, but there were four of them and chances were she may not have been able to get to all of them, and if they all had guns then it'd be foolish of her to simply take them on with just a rifle and a knife. _Just take it easy, take them all out one at a time and it's all going to work itself out._

Using the hunting knife that she had stolen from Gervase, she carved a notch in the stock of the rifle.

_One down._


	27. Hour 22: 35 Contestants Remaining

Hour 22

35 Contestants Remaining

There were lawn chairs. None of them knew exactly why there were lawn chairs, but they had found them stashed away in one of the many outbuildings. It was weird in that way, this island was supposed to be a military base, and yet the most useless stuff could be found if someone looked for it hard enough.

As they kept watch from the roof of the mess hall, Katherine Farraday (Girl # 4), Ashley Vasquez (Girl # 5) and Michael Baxter (Boy # 21) lounged back in their chairs, trying as best as possible to pass the time while maintaining what little sanity was left given the circumstances. They were supposed to be on the lookout for Brynn, the scout that the Brat Pack had sent out to check out their operation. At the same time though, they were armed to the hilt in case whoever came knocking at their door was not Brynn, or at the very least if they had ill intentions. Ashley had her shotgun (though technically it was Carter's, Ashley was attached to it as if it were her child) and blunt weapons, Katherine had her snub-nosed revolver stuck in with its belt of bullets, and although Michael was unarmed, he was inches away from a small stash of Molotov cocktails. It would be unpleasant to say the least for anyone who came wandering their way who wanted to try and start something. Luckily, the tin cans tied to the string across the way from the door they guarded would give them a heads up and either give a chance to help or scare off anyone in the way.

If, however, there was one thing that was particularly irritating, it was the boredom. Odd as it might seem under the circumstances of a Battle Royale, the perceived safety that SABRE offered them brought a sense of extreme boredom to the three sentries on the roof, and combined with the general insanity that the game provided it was almost necessary to just... try and be human.

"Favorite ice cream?" Katherine asked with a smile.

Taking a swig from Peter's flask, Ashley responded, "Rocky Road, hands down."

"Strawberry," Michael said, "nice and pink like me."

The two girls laughed as Michael was referring to his hair, one half dyed bright purple, the other half dyed bright pink. Michael had always found himself endeared to the females because of his general charm and good humor, and if he had been born straight he knew he'd have been a ladies man rather easily.

"Strawberry ice cream on a nice hot slice of pie, Quality Café down on Mission street's got it for a buck forty-nine, good stuff methinks."

"How's 'bout you Katherine?" Ashley asked as she twisted the cap back on the flask of alcohol.

"Ooh, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough," she said enthusiastically with a smile.

"Give me a good buzz, a copy of The Matrix and a bigass bucket of Cookie Dough and I'm set for the night," Ashley said as her smile got wider and a laugh escaped her lips. Michael and Katherine both giggled in kind. Katherine looked to Ashley with a sense of gratification. _Thank God for Ashley_, _always good for a good quote to break the mood._

"Should we go for another question?" Katherine asked.

"Yup," Michael responded, taking a swig off of one of his water bottles.

"Hmmm... worst job?" Katherine asked, trying to keep the mood light. She wanted to ask what they had planned on doing after high school initially, but it seemed like a moot point and kind of anticlimactic. There was a lot of work that needed to be done in regards to the escape, and although she had a lot of hope... there was no hope for the future. She hated it, but there was no future in her eyes, she just couldn't see it. Even if... even if the escape works, the life of a refugee does not a life make.

"Easy, McDonald's," Ashley responded, "that shit's just wrong. Bad hours, bad people, working on a fryer's gonna give you more scars than street fights."

Getting more giggles and laughs, Michael responded, "McKinley's Shoe Store. I've seen stuff on feet that can't be natural, I mean, seriously, people gotta have gills or fungus or something. Seriously, I got a rash once from someone's nasty socks. It's not right man."

"Gross," Katherine said, playfully kicking Michael.

"Come on Blondie," Ashley said with her wide smile, "your turn, where's the worst place you worked?"

Shuddering slightly, Katherine thought of about a dozen reasons why she should not have asked the question. Nevertheless, now was as good a time as any to face all fears.

"I had a paper route once, when I was twelve," Katherine responded.

"Paper route?" Ashley asked, "Get bit by one too many dogs?"

As Ashley and Michael laughed, Katherine raised her voice ever so slightly.

"No," Katherine said, "but I did have to deliver to The Braiwood Institute."

That one shut everyone up in an instant. Every town has one, one of those places that parents tell their kids to stay away from. One of those places that's supposedly haunted. One of those places that the kids dare each other to go up to, but no one ever does. One of those places, of nightmares... For the town of Braiwood, California, it would have to be The Braiwood Institute, or as it was known in the 50's, The Braiwood Institution for the Mentally Insane.

It was a legitimate hospital for the diagnosing and treating of mental patients, but it was still a frightening place. The architecture was old and vast, made to look as much like a fortress as it was a prison. The facilities for the most part had been renovated and modernized, on the inside, but the outside was still a frightening structure. And, when the wind was right, you could actually hear some of the screamers.

"It was not exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted money," Katherine said, "but I didn't know any better. I was twelve, so sue me, my parents said get a paper route so I got a paper route. I liked it, you know, ride the bike, nice trees, nice exercise, good town. I got tips sometimes, I mean it was quarters and half dollars, but when you're twelve it's a big deal, ya know?"

"Yeah," Ashley said, "that's some good stuff."

"Yup," Katherine said with a pleasant smile, "I'd take my money, hit the ice cream truck and just spend all my money on candy. It was great."

A crack of thunder echoed as a bright spider's web of lightning crossed the sky. All three jumped in their seats, then looking at each other and laughing again.

"Well, anyway, after a few months they changed my route and I had to deliver a bundle of papers over to the Braiwood Institute. And it wasn't just drop the paper off on the doorstep and run away screaming, no, I actually had to go inside to the front desk to drop off the papers. The old nurse at the front desk was nice enough, but she had a face like a vulture, with some horrible scar made it look like half her face was ripped away. I could hear people inside sometimes, people shouting and screaming incomprehensible things. They sometimes shouted horrible things, cursing and wailing, talking about bugs eating their skin. It just scared me."

"That's fucked up," Michael interjected with a shudder, noticing that Ashley was completely quiet, "did you quit?"

"I wanted to, but I was too afraid of what my parents were going to say. They scared me more than the crazy people, though I know that must sound weak."

"Nah," Ashley said, "parents are 'bout as scary as anything else in the world. Even this game right here."

"Yeah, so because of them I didn't quit. Well, one day I'm up delivering the paper, I get through the gate, and the nurse at the desk is busy, tells me to take a seat in the waiting room, so I do. It's pretty much empty like it usually is, but there is this husband and wife with what looked like one of their fathers. He was old and bald, just looking off into nowhere. He had a blank, vacant stare. He was scary, and I mean scarier than anything else I'd seen before, and he wasn't even doing anything. I just sat across from this guy, holding the newspaper, watching as his kids were reading magazines. Then the nurse calls me, I look around, and I feel this icy cold hand on my arm. It felt like a dead body, just tightly grasping my arm. I screamed and tried to get away, and find this old scrawny guy grabbing at me. He kept screaming, 'Welcome to Die! Welcome to Die! Welcome to Die!' He grabbed me and threw me down onto the floor, which is how I got this scar," Katherine said as she pulled up her hair and showed the small notch on the edge of her scalp, "so, that was my last day. I just never could have done the job after that."

After a moment of awkward silence between the three, Michael said as he passed Katherine a bottle of water, "Okay, you win worst job."

With silence once again prevailing, the three sat in their chairs and looked on into the darkness of the night. It was getting cold already, a stark contrast to the blazing heat that had taken them over for most of the day. Clouds covered up the moon, and only the occasional burst of lightning bringing light into the night. The wind had picked up, chilling the roof sentries and making them shiver noticeably.

Shivering nervously (though she would never admit it, she was creeped out by Katherine's story), Ashley pulled out a cigarette, put it between her lips and lit it. "So who's next?" she asked.

Smiling widely and eager to change the subject, Michael asked, "Ooh, out of our class do you guys think is cute? Luke would be hot if he weren't such a whore, and I always thought Matt and Peter were cute in their own hostile toughness sort of way, but that's just an unsubstantiated opinion."

"Matt's not bad," Ashley responded, then with a grimace, "neither was Peter. I'd say Luke had his moments, but he was too much of a pretty boy. Dora's pretty hot too, and Maxine could be with a bit more makeup, but that's just me. How's 'bout you Katherine?"

"Well, pretty boy or not Luke was pretty cute," she said with a smile, "though honestly I think Ca-"

Katherine was taken off guard in mid-sentence as the tin cans clattered across the roof, pulled by the string as someone crossed the way to the door. Instantly the three ducked from their chairs, Ashley and Katherine pulling out their guns and edging them over the roof, while Michael kept close to the Molotov cocktails, holding Ashley's lighter at the ready.

"Who's there?" Ashley asked harshly as she aimed the shotgun more towards the path, getting on her knees to make herself visible to the person below.

"Brynn," said Girl # 6 from her spot on the ground below, "It's Brynn, you guys called me over here and I'm just checking things out. Don't shoot me! Who's there?"

"Ashley," Ashley said with a grimace. She liked Brynn and was one of the many who would admit that she was pretty hot, but a lot of the time she was a heinous bitch and hard to deal with. Ashley was really hoping that the game might have mellowed her out a bit.

"Hey Ash," Brynn responded, a smile crossing her face, "can ya let me in? It's freezing out here."

"Just a sec," Ashley responded as she retreated back across the roof.

"Is she on the level?" Michael whispered harshly.

"I dunno," Ashley said, "she might or she might not be. This game fucks with people, she's already killed Maxine and she might've killed off the rest of those damned Brat Packers for all we know, but she's here now and she could use our help, and we can probably use whatever help we can get."

"You think so?" Michael asked.

"Not really," Ashley responded, "Brynn's a spineless coward and probably killed Maxine out of fear, and I honestly doubt she could've killed off her friends. And I know we need help, but anyone other than Brynn would probably best right about now, but what Anna says goes and I'm not about to argue with our boss right now. Let's get moving."

With Michael and Katherine in tow, Ashley traversed the roof and crossed over to find their way back inside the mess hall. Brynn would probably be at the very least an interesting addition to the group, even if no one was really looking forward to it.

* * *

Standing in the doorway with her machete in hand, Brynn waited for it to open. She had been standing there, freezing her ass off for two whole minutes while the assholes inside got their act in gear. She could hear them talking, arguing and fretting about on the other side. _Puh-leeze, get this over with._

As it swung open, Brynn held her machete up defensively, and for the first time in the game she screamed. She was met with the sight of Lexie Hawk (Girl # 20) and Anna Rourke (Girl # 7) holding guns high and aiming them at her chest, while flanked by Gus O'Ryan (Boy # 20) and Paul Holt (Boy # 12) as they held two aluminum bats. All were ready to strike, and despite her peaceful mission, Brynn was taken aback. Out of instinct, Paul swung his bat and hit the door, smashing into the frame and warping the wood. Again, Brynn screamed.

"What the fuck is your problem!" Brynn yelled.

"Paul," Anna yelled, "ease up, she's on our side."

"Sorry, sorry," Paul said as he backed off shamefacedly.

Looking over to Brynn, Anna spoke, "Hey Brynn, not that we don't trust you, but if you want in you're gonna have to hand over the sword."

"Machete," Brynn corrected.

"Whatever, hand it over."

Looking slightly pissed, but not in the mood to argue, Brynn tossed the blade to the floor and lodged it in the wooden boards. It wagged back and forth slightly in an odd manner, but no one really paid any attention.

As Anna motioned Brynn to follow her further into the mess hall, Gus moved over to close the door. Pulling it tight, he winced as it fell off one hinge and swung oddly on its frame.

"You damned fool! You ruined the door!" he yelled at Paul, who more than anything else wanted to disappear. All in all it was turning out to be an strange sort of night.

* * *

Anna showed Brynn around the mess hall for some time, giving her the true scope of their operation. After going from room to room, showing off their sleeping quarters (currently occupied by Francisco and Jenny), their jury-rigged medical facilities, the restroom and finally the meat locker, the two stopped to talk. The room already had two occupants, Carter James (Boy # 1) and Doug Rodgers (Boy # 2), both looking on intently at the laptop they had stolen from the boat. Doug kept at it, working rapidly on the computer while Carter backed him up. Neither spoke all that much, and neither paid heed to Anna and Brynn's entrance. 

"How have things been over at the infirmary?" Anna asked as she sat down in one of their chairs. She motioned for Brynn to sit down on a nearby cot, and the other girl did so obligingly.

"We're doing okay, little personal shit, but all right overall," Brynn responded.

"Any casualties?" Anna asked.

"Nope, we've been lucky, everyone's still alive. We got Tammy who's about as useful as... well, she's pretty damned useless. Ayane got shot in the shoulder, but she's managing. Cheryl's bad though. Cheryl's been shot in the gut and she's been bleeding pretty bad."

"She's still alive?" Anna asked, impressed.

"More or less, but I don't think she has much longer."

"Well, get her over here, we can speed things up then," Anna said confidently.

"Well, this is all nice and everything," she said, "but what the fuck did you call me down for? Had ourselves nice and pretty safe over in the infirmary, I haul my very nice ass down here because you guys say you can get out of here, and honestly I want to know how you guys think you'll be able to do it."

"Fair enough," Anna said, "we've found a loophole in the game. Actually, we've found several, this meat locker being one of 'em, since they can't hear us when we're inside. That basically means good for us, bad for them. Anyhow, another one of them is the fact that it's not all that hard to hijack a boat."

"A boat?" Brynn asked.

"Yeah, a boat, they've got maintenance and guard boats circling the island keeping an eye on us. The guard boats are pretty much kept to make sure anyone trying to swim their way out don't make it, but with the DZ buoys out there, the boats are kind of moot. Anyhow, the maintenance boats are out there to basically fix up any problems we give them, a camera or a mike or a motion sensor breaks, they come to shore, make a danger zone and send a crew in to fix it. We ditch the belts, kill the crew, grab the boat and head on out."

"It's that easy?" Brynn asked hesitantly.

"That easy," Anna said with pride, "they won't see it coming, they think we're all a bunch of helpless teenagers, doing our thing and running around like chickens with our heads cut off. Nothing like this has ever been tried before, no one has ever figured out how to beat the system. We have, and we will."

"And you sure you can ditch the belts?" Brynn asked.

"Positive," Anna reaffirmed, looking to Carter and Doug for reassurances and getting none.

"Not bad, not bad... Whaddya guys got in terms of weapons?" Brynn asked, "We only really got a rifle and the machete, we're gonna need a lot more than that to take on this fucked up game."

"We are," Anna responded with a smile, "we've got three pistols, one of which is semi-automatic, the other's revolvers, and Ashley's got herself a sawed-off shotgun. We've also got this tranq pistol, but it's almost out of darts so it's not too good for us. Those are our guns, in terms of other stuff, we've got some odds and ends. Paul's got a chainsaw and some hand grenades. Ashley's got a police baton, a tire iron and some brass knuckles. Two baseball bats, a crowbar, about half a dozen meat hooks, about another half dozen pieces of rebar, and a good amount of Molotov cocktails. So, yeah, we're more or less armed to the teeth."

"You sound ready for war," Brynn said, genuinely impressed.

"I dunno about a war," Anna responded, "but a good sized revolution is a possibility."

"Revolution's good," Brynn said critically, "if you can pull it off."

"We'll pull it off," Anna said, then with a bit of remorse, "but even if we don't pull it off, that's the great thing about the revolution. You can kill the revolutionary, but you can't kill the revolution. We spread the word right, we won't have to be worrying about success."

"But we want success anyway," Carter noted from behind the computer.

"Yeah," Anna said with a grin, "we don't want to fuck this up. Death is bad in my book, 'cause I plan on living forever."

"I hear that one," Brynn said with a smile.

"I am invincible!" shouted Doug from behind his laptop, startling those around him.

"What's that mean?" Brynn asked.

"That's a good thing," Anna said as she looked over to the computer whiz, then looking back at Brynn, "we snagged a laptop and a GPS device from one of the maintenance boats when they hit shore. Right now we're using them to try and figure out where in the hell we are, and how in the hell to get these frickin belts off. Any luck so far boys?"

"Not now, busy," was Doug's response. Anna looked on with a roll of the eyes, then looking at the more sane Carter.

"Carter?"

As he sat up, Carter rubbed his eyes from a combination of exhaustion and staring at the computer for too long. Doug, eyes long since glazed over, paid no attention, almost becoming one with the machine.

"Best as we can figure we're about six miles or so off the coast of Mexico," Carter said, "we scavenged a laptop, a GPS device which are helpful."

"Got a first aid kit too," Doug piped in as he stared at the monitor, then letting Carter go on.

"Yeah... anyway, we're give or take about six miles from the coast, maybe twenty miles from the US border."

"Good news, good news," Anna said.

"So, what, make a dash for the coast, then head out to the border and on home?" Brynn asked ignorantly.

"Not quite," Anna responded, "I don't know about you, but I've seen the camera's around here, and the camera's have seen us. We're all famous now, and once they figure out that we skipped the game, we're not only going to be celebrities. We're going to be fugitives, probably with shoot to kill orders on our head."

"So what's that mean?" Brynn asked.

Letting a smile cross her face, Anna asked in fluent Spanish, _"I know you're a cheerleader, but can you still speak Spanish?"_

"_Of course I do bitch, one hell of a lot better than you too,"_ Brynn responded without missing a beat.

"_Good, good, when we're in Mexico we'll be refugees and we need all the fluent speakers we can,"_ Anna responded with a smile.

Cracking a sly smile, Brynn responded, _"Your Spanish sucks but it'll do, work on the accent more."_

"I'm working on it," Anna said with a laugh, "three years high school Spanish, they don't teach street. Ash and Frank are fluent too, so they'll also be a lot of help."

Running her hands through her hair, Brynn breathed in deep. This was too much, too fast, in too fucked up a game.

"I don't wanna shit on your riff or anything, but lemme get this straight. You're saying that we bust a camera, set off a danger zone, get a crew of US Army guys to come to shore, kill them all with some pistols and meat hooks, steal their boat which we don't really know how to drive, make a dash for Mexico without getting caught so that we can live out the rest of our lives as runaways and America's most wanted?"

"Yeah," Anna said without hesitation, "that's basically it."

"And you're positive about these?" Brynn asked as she pointed to her belt.

"We're taking care of that," Doug said out of nowhere, his eyes quite bloodshot and affixed thoroughly to the computer screen.

"Yeah," Anna butted in, "we've got an in on that computer right now. We'll get these belts off, easy money."

"Just like that..." Brynn said.

"Just like that, yeah," Anna said confidently.

"All right," Brynn said, "this is some real crazy shit here, but I'm in. I'll head on back, get the others."

As Brynn stood up and walked from the meat locker, Anna followed her. The two women made their way to the front door, Anna continuing to talk as they strode across the room.

"Do it quick," Anna said, "when you guys get back here we're going to pull this off and get the hell out of here. Do you think Cheryl can make it?"

"I doubt it," Brynn said, "but we'll try."

"Good," Anna said. She reached to the floor, pulling the blade of Brynn's machete out of the wood and holding it tentatively by the handle. As she handed it to the Latina, she withdrew for a moment and looked into her eyes.

"There's one thing that's been bugging me," Anna mentioned.

"Yeah?" Brynn asked.

"Just a simple, quick thing. Why'd you kill Maxine?"

The animation in Brynn's face died out for a moment, then returning into a semi-cocky, semi-nervous smile as she looked on.

"Bitch was crazy, she kept running around and trying to get in, trying to break us up, try to kill us, so I shot her."

"Hmmm," Anna responded, "okay, but didn't you notice that she'd been stabbed by Damien?"

Anna noticed as the animation in Brynn's face disappeared again for an even shorter time. She regained it even quicker.

"Man, she was covered in blood, for all I knew she just went fucking nuts and sliced someone else up."

"All right," Anna said, handing Brynn back the machete, "thanks a bunch. Take care of yourself out there, we'll see you guys soon?"

Anna opened the door nonchalantly as Brynn considered the weapon in her hands. Looking on, she smiled widely.

"Yeah, I'll be back soon," Brynn said as she backed out the door. Anna unceremoniously slammed it shut, while Paul and Gus helped to push a table in front of it for protection. Anna looked to the door with mixed feelings, hope for the success of their escape, while at the same time doubt that bringing in the Brat Pack would be the best of ideas.

"She murdered Maxine," Carter said as he crept up behind Anna, "didn't she?"

"Yeah," Anna said remorsefully, "I think so."

"Why'd you tell her we figured out how to get the belts off?" Carter asked, "we still haven't been able to figure it out and we don't know much of anything about how in the hell these belts work, let alone how to take them off."

"Well, they didn't need to know that," Anna responded, "right now we need numbers and we need weapons, and they have both. It would be helpful to have them on our side, so that when we do figure out how to take the belts off, we can get out of here with them with us."

"But we're getting their hopes up," Carter said, "especially if Cheryl's shot in the belly, there's no way we can get her to a doctor in time."

"You're right," Anna sighed, "Cheryl's going to die, there's nothing we can do to save her. But we've got Brynn, Ayane, Dora and Serenity, they're strong and could be good to the cause."

Letting the rising anger getting the best of him, Carter spoke up.

"Fuck the cause for just a second and think like a human being, if we can't save Cheryl, what's to say we're going to save the rest of us?"

"The rest of us aren't shot in the fucking gut," Anna hissed back, "all we can do for her when she gets here, if she isn't already dead, is make her comfortable and hope she dies a peaceful death, which is more than can be promised for the rest of us if we don't get hooked up and figure out how to get these belts off. So, get back with Doug and get these belts off."

Running hands through his hair and trying to massage out the headache that was growing, Carter spoke up.

"Doug really needs some sleep. He hasn't slept for a minute since the game started and it's really starting to mess with him. He's obsessing over that screen, and I really don't think he's going to be any good to us if we keep working him to the bone."

He paused, then adding, "Neither will you. When's the last time you got any rest?"

Anna was growing frustrated as her chosen right hand started speaking back to her. It was true that she respected Carter and was glad that he was her second in command, but this wasn't what she was looking for. A leader has to lead, not have the followers do the leading. She sighed again, remembering the facts about democracy and noting that she herself hadn't gotten any sleep. She knew it was taking a toll on them all.

"Quite a while," Anna said as she closed her eyes, blocking out the pain, "can you spell Doug for an hour or two?"

"I'm not as good on the computer," Carter admitted, "but I can give it a shot if it means he gets some sleep."

"Good," Anna said, "do that."

Smiling slightly, Carter was proud. He'd been making some leeway with Anna, and things were really starting to go well.

"And Carter," Anna said as he walked away.

"Yeah?" Carter asked with his back turned.

"Talk to Katherine," Anna said with a smile, "everyone knows you got the hots for her and if this all goes downhill you may not get another shot. Try and use that backbone you just grew for something constructive, I'm going to grab a few z's, okay?"

Smiling wryly, Carter simply just gave the OK sign with his hand. He corrected his earlier thought. Things were starting to go damned well, and for once he was really liking where he stood in the "game."

"We can do this," he said to himself, "we're really going to do this..."


	28. Hour 23: 35 Contestants Remaining

Hour 23

35 Contestants Remaining

Eliza Mann, a.k.a. Girl # 19, woke up under the dirty blanket of an ages old army cot. The bed frame was old and rusty, creaking every time that she inched around on it and making her dread getting within inches of it. _Tetanus._ The last thing she'd need out here was an infection making her life miserable for the last hours of her life. She'd already been off her meds for more than a day, and the ADD was starting to kick in pretty fierce. Thoughts had ping-ponged through her head for some time, messing with the clarity and in general creating something of a pissy situation.

More than anything else, she was glad that there was one thing to give her clarity. She smiled secretly, a pleasant smile. She had her own clarity, the clarity that had always kept her sane, the clarity that had brought light into even the darkest of moments. Clarity, thy name is Jackson Brent, a.k.a. Boy # 7.

* * *

They had met during their freshman year in high school. Eliza had fought her way through the lunch line, accidentally knocking this scrawny and somewhat stoned guy to the floor and sending his tray flying. She apologized profusely, trying to pile everything back on his tray. 

"Sorry," Eliza had said, "I can just be a goober sometimes."

At that, she kept going through the line, paid her way, and found a seat at one of the abandoned lunch tables. Everywhere else, the school's cliques formed, the cheerleaders, the jocks, the skaters, the Asians, the yuppies, the republicans, and Eliza couldn't bring herself to sit with any of them.

Then came the guy in his punk rock t-shirt and old army jacket, lunch tray in hand and walking on over to Eliza with a nervous smile.

"Hey, I'm Jackson, I can be a goober too sometimes," he said, "wanna do lunch together?"

Eliza had giggled, said yes, and they'd been together ever since. It was nice, it was friendly, it was fun, and it felt great.

And more than anything else, it made Eliza sad. The Battle Royale was screwed up for most people, but for couples, especially a couple as close as Jackson and Eliza... it would be the worst. They could commit suicide, and they had discussed it already, but it wasn't going to happen. Life was short enough as is, Jackson had rationalized, might as well spend every moment of it to its fullest. And that they had...

...or at least they had tried. Eliza released the blanket from her nude form, shivering slightly as the cool air met her skin. They had spent much of the time since Matt left making love, but it was fitful. It was rushed, it was hurried, and there was less emotion to it than either party would have liked. It was mechanical, and Eliza was more than willing to admit it, but it did help remove a lot of the stress. It took their minds away from death for a little while, and honestly every little bit helped.

Eliza sighed, thinking about how it was also a way to make sure Jackson wasn't constantly stoned. God bless Jackson, he was an unbearably sweet guy and really funny, but there was always a time and a place to get stoned. Battle Royale was not one of them. If he was wasted all the time, they'd be defenseless if anyone came around with ill intentions. Then again, getting caught with your pants down wouldn't work to your advantage either.

Still though, when he got stoned, Jackson was not always one of the funny stoners. More often than not, he was a paranoid stoner, and when he got started on a paranoid rant, it was hard to stop him. _Then again_, Eliza mused with a smile, _get off the meds and you're no better_. She pulled on her purple t-shirt and white overalls tenderly, trying not to make a lot of noise. She hadn't woken up next to Jackson, and if he was asleep in the next room, she did not want to wake him. Sliding her boots on, Eliza sighed.

She didn't want to die. She really didn't want to die. She was a photographer, a guitarist, killing people wasn't her thing. Fighting wasn't her thing, make love not war and all that jazz. Fucked up, seriously, this was all just wrong. She sighed again, really wanting to see Jackson and missing him even though he was only in the other room. Feeling a tear roll down her cheek, she wiped it away. Being sad around Jackson wouldn't help anyone right now. Sniffling slightly, she tried to clear herself up, smile a bit, and get along with what little life she had left.

* * *

Pulling her hair up into a quick and dirty bun as she walked into the other room, Eliza tied it with a rubber band. She could smell the smell, a very familiar smell for those who stayed around Jackson. The acrid smoke wasn't as bad as it usually was, partly because Jackson was kind enough to stick by an open window. He sat on a chair, feet propped up on another cot as he looked out the broken window to the ground below. He looked idly to the pile of Molotov cocktails they had made on the bed, then staring back out the window. 

As she looked on her boyfriend, Eliza couldn't help but smile. He wasn't very attractive in the traditional sense, but being as non-traditional as they came, Eliza was more than pleased. He wasn't wearing a shirt, showing off that he was thin. He was very thin, almost impossibly so, maybe even slightly bony, with skin that was a bit too pale from staying indoors too long. His hair, his long, brown, greasy hair, hung loosely around his neck from beneath that ever-present beanie. Around his neck hung a light gold chain, its links tinkling ever so slightly as he moved. While many would have old dog tags or a cross hanging on a chain, Jackson's emblem of choice was an old razor blade, its edges filed down to prevent slicing him up.

The chain and blade reflected softly in what little moonlight there was, pretty much the only part of Jackson aside from the glow of his joint that showed in the darkness.

"Hey," Eliza said softly.

"Hey yourself," Jackson said, grinning slightly as he took his attention away from the window.

"Have you seen anyone?" she asked.

Taking a puff from his joint, Jackson held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling.

"Saw a couple of girls wandering by 'bout two hours ago," he said, "but they kept on their way, so we don't have any problems. Some gunshots a little while ago, one big, one smaller, otherwise not a whole lot."

"How long was I asleep?" Eliza asked with a smile crossing her face.

"Four, maybe five hours," Jackson said.

"Wow," Eliza responded with genuine shock. _Don't be so surprised, off the meds remember? You always sleep better without that buzz going._

"Yeah," Jackson responded, "you were sleeping like a log. Snoring like a buzz saw, but sleeping like a log."

"Oh piss off," Eliza said with a giggle.

"Maybe later," Jackson said, "right now I'm just working on a nice buzz."

"That's good enough for me," Eliza said with her smile even wider. Getting closer, Jackson passed her the joint, to which she obligingly accepted.

Taking a puff, Eliza asked through a cough, "So what are we going to do?"

Taking the marijuana back, Jackson inhaled more smoke and looked to his girlfriend.

"I've been thinking that exact same thought since, well, this whole mess started," Jackson said, "it's on my mind, been eating at me for some time now. I don't want to die, but it seems like a foregone conclusion that dying right now is the only option."

"You always get so damned apocalyptic and paranoid when you're stoned," Eliza said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe," Jackson said, "but this time I'd be right. There's bound to be people here trying to figure a way out, not like it's going to do them any good. We're not going to get out, neither are they. We're all going to die, and it fucking sucks."

"Yeah," Eliza said as she looked at her feet absentmindedly, "it does, doesn't it? But we can still look for more people, can't we?"

"Running around out there," Jackson said, "is stupid. God bless Matt, he's going out there with some high and noble cause, but he's going to die. Running around out there is just crazy, you don't know who you can trust, what's going to happen, and what everyone out there is really capable of. And I've heard the announcements, we've got classmates, normal, well-adjusted people who have done crazy fucking things. Crazy fucking things..."

"But, what if we-" Eliza said, cut off as Jackson waved his hand. He put two fingers in front of his mouth and looked harshly over to Eliza. With heart pounding, she could hear it too. Someone was wandering by, moaning loudly for some reason.

"They sound hurt," Eliza said.

"They sound like a zombie," Jackson said, eyes suddenly wild.

As they looked out the window, the figure became visible. It was a tall man, dragging his feet along with arms hanging limply at his sides. Even in the darkness they could see the bloodstains that littered his body.

"He really is hurt," Eliza said with care, then yelling, "HEY, OVER HERE!"

"Eliza, are you nuts?" Jackson asked harshly. Looking out the window once more, they could see that the figure had changed courses, half-jogging, half limping as he wandered over.

"Heeeeeel meeeeeee!" the figure moaned in a garbled manner, speaking as only a dying person could.

"He's really hurt," Eliza said, watching the man (now clearly shirtless as he got closer) get closer to their hideaway. As he reached ten feet from the building, Jackson quickly grabbed a Molotov cocktail and his lighter, preparing to strike at any moment.

"Jackson, stop, please, let's just try and help him!" Eliza pleaded, grabbing her boyfriends arms and causing him to drop his weapons on the bed.

It wandered directly to the wall below them, looking up wildly but finding nothing. Instead, it just tried to pry at one of the barred windows directly below theirs, failing miserably. The figure moaned even louder.

"Heeeeeeeel meeee!" it groaned louder than last time.

"Shit," Jackson whispered harshly, "he gets any louder he's gonna draw some bad attention our way!"

"He's really hurt," Eliza said, "we have to let him in."

"I'm fine with that if he can just shut up!" Jackson responded.

"Heeeeeeeel meeee!" the figure moaned, prying at the window as he looked up to Jackson and Eliza, "Peeez heeel mee!"

"We have to let him in," Eliza said.

"He's going to give us away!" Jackson said, "Besides, what if he's trying to trick us? What if he's got a gun or a knife or something and's trying to get us to let him in?"

"I don't know," Eliza said, "but he's really injured, I know it."

"HEEEEEL MEEEE PEEEEZ, I HURZ!" the figure wailed, pounding on the barred window below.

Angry and frustrated, Jackson ran across to the other side of the room. He reached to the cot, grabbing the Molotov cocktail he had dropped and walking over to the window. He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, reaching for his trusty Zippo lighter while Eliza looked on with wide eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked.

Holding the Zippo, he spun the wheel grimly. Once, twice, three times, no flame. Fourth time, the sparks lit the end of the device and produced a small flame. Holding it up, he attempted to light the cloth that protruded from the bottle of fuel.

"I don't want to torch 'em," Jackson said, "just scare 'em off."

"Jackson, please..." Eliza said, holding her hand out to grab her boyfriend's arm.

"He's going to attract attention. Really, the guy's just hollering for help, which ain't gonna do us any good. He's just screaming and screaming, and even if he isn't gonna try and kill us, he's still gonna keep on screaming, and we really don't need that. You want to live, right?"

Jackson shifted into his charismatic tone, his caring tone, the tone that always tugged at Eliza's heartstrings.

"I don't want to play this game more than anyone else, I just want to spend the rest of my hours with you. I just want as many hours as I can get, and if he keeps screaming like this, we really aren't going to last very long."

He paused, grimacing slightly at the wailing.

"You're just scaring him off?" Eliza asked.

"Only scaring him off."

"Not trying to kill him?" she asked again.

"Yeah, swear, just scaring him off," Jackson responded.

She sighed, "Fine, do it."

Getting another flame from his lighter, Jackson lit the Molotov cocktail and held it out the broken window. He tossed it, aiming it so that it would land a good distance away from the person trying to get in. It shattered on the ground about twenty feet away, erupting in a small burst of flame as the figure below was knocked on his rear from shock.

"Go away!" Jackson yelled, "get the hell out of here!"

The figure below wailed from the shock, and promptly started limping away around the side of the building, clawing at the walls and trying to make his way around. He stumbled along the wall, wailing and moaning as he made his way out of sight. A moment of silence passed as Jackson and Eliza watched on, staring out the window and waiting for any sign whatsoever.

"Is he gone?" Eliza asked.

"I think so," Jackson whispered back.

They waited for another moment, listening and waiting. They could hear the wind as it rustled through the trees. Insects were droning from the jungle. A bolt of lightning spiderwebbed across the sky, releasing a crashing boom of thunder that rattled the building. Jackson jumped from the surprise.

Another sound made its way into the Brig, that of an old door creaking open and being flung on its hinges, followed by the familiar sound of, "Heeeeeel meeeeee!"

"Fuck, he's inside!" Jackson said, his eyes suddenly the size of dinner plates.

Looking around, Jackson quickly grabbed his sledgehammer and threw it down the ruined stairway. Having taken out the steps earlier for protection, the stairway was reduced to a sheer drop, so the sledge hit the ground with a loud impact.

"I'll take care of this," Jackson said intensely, grabbing another Molotov cocktail and holding it in hand. Walking over to the ruined staircase, he kneeled down lightly before jumping to the ground with a thud and a curse.

Eliza stood by, conflicted over what to do. She was afraid, she definitely did not want to die if she couldn't help it, and at the same time she didn't want Jackson or whoever was trying to get in to get hurt. Against her better judgment, she walked over to the damaged stairs, prepared for a fall, and dropped to the ground below.

Landing on her butt, Eliza had the wind knocked out of her and saw stars for a brief moment. Seeing her, Jackson came over and helped her to her feet, drawing her into a quick hug.

"Come on," Jackson said, grabbing his sledgehammer and lifting it up high onto his shoulder. Eliza begrudgingly followed her boyfriend as he led the way to the front of the brig. They could both hear the moans of the figure, but he was still impossible to identify or even really see. Holding her flashlight, Eliza hit the button to turn it on, illuminating the barred gate that led to the admittance office. Almost instantly, she screamed, dropping her flashlight with a metallic clank.

"Eliza, I need the light, turn it on!"

With hands shaking, she did, illuminating what at best could be described as a horrific sight. Standing behind the barred gate of the brig entrance, was Boy # 24, Gervase Rockwell.

At best, he could be described as a mess. At worst, he could be described as seriously fucked up. Under the harsh glow of Eliza's flashlight, the full extent of all his injuries were visible. His thumbs were gone in two bright splotches of red on his hands. The carvings into his chest had long since clotted and turned an odd, brownish black color. His skin was white and extremely pale, almost blue in many areas from complete and total shock and exposure to the elements. The flesh in his chest was drawn up tightly, making his ribs very visible and that much more frightening. His face however was the worst part. It was still a distorted and broken shape from when Marie had beaten him, while having bitten off his tongue made blood flow freely down his chin and neck. Like the rest of his body, the shock and exposure had caused his skin to turn a frightening bluish-white tint, drawing tightly against his bones and making him look like a frightening skeleton. His mouth hung open limply as he moaned, long strands of bloody drool roping out as he hollered.

"Peeez hep me guys, i hurz!"

The couple stood by in shock for a moment, looking on as Gervase rattled against the bars. The words, "MARIE COOPER DID THIS" stood out clearly on his chest, making Eliza sick to her stomach. _Christ, someone not only did this to Gervase but took enough pride to write it out. God damn that's messed up._

Jackson tried his best to maintain his stomach towards the graphic scene, but if nothing changed, he wouldn't be too far behind.

"Just shut the fuck up!" Jackson yelled to the zombie-like Gervase.

"We'll help you but we need you quiet!" Eliza whispered harshly.

Gervase was out of it, that much was clear, as he didn't even seem to hear what they were saying, simply moaning again, "Heeeeellll meeee!"

"Jesus," Jackson muttered, swinging his sledgehammer high and connecting it with the barred gate, getting a loud and metallic clang. The sound echoed, getting all three in the room to back off from their respective spots just from the sheer noise. Jackson repeated the process in an effort to scare Gervase off the bars. The wounded boy whimpered, backing away slightly and looking on in half-catatonic, half-glazed over eyes. He wandered back to the bars, looking into Jackson's eyes pitifully. Jackson contemplated smashing the hammer into the gate once more, but that seemed unnecessary now. He was quiet. Jackson took a tentative step forward, holding his sledge as defensively as ever.

"That's it," Eliza said soothingly, "we can help you. Just please, be quiet."

Looking around dimly like a sedated animal, Gervase looked to Eliza, and then to Jackson. A moment of recognition went as he put two and two together, making his mouth twist into an angered grimace.

"Yuu rieed ta buurrr me!" Gervase accused, slipping his arms further through the bars and grabbing Jackson with remarkable strength. Gervase pulled him towards the bars, slamming Jackson up against the metal with a resounding clang and bashing his head. He pulled Jackson to the bars repeatedly, each time getting a ringing report as his head bounced off the metal. Jackson dropped his sledgehammer, the weapon falling to the floor with a thud.

"YU RIED TA BURR ME! YU RIED TA BURR ME!" he hollered, slamming a now bloodied Jackson against the bars.

"Jackson!" Eliza shrieked, trying to pry Gervase's thumbless hands from her boyfriend with little success. Gervase was amazingly strong given his condition, and his fingers were wound tightly around Jackson's shoulders. He even managed well without thumbs, which terrified Eliza all the more upon viewing the ragged stumps close up. Trying to think quickly, she quickly grabbed Jackson's sledgehammer and tried to lift it. The weapon was unbearably heavy in her thin arms, but she had to save him. Lifting it high, she dropped it hard on one of Gervase's arms.

It snapped with a loud crack, breaking at a right angle halfway across Gervase's wrist. He screamed loudly, backing away enough for Jackson to pull away. In his own defense, Jackson brought up the Molotov cocktail and smashed it over Gervase's head. Gasoline and shards of glass flew every which way, making Gervase scream even more. He stumbled away, clawing at his face and screaming even more. Jackson fell to the floor, coughing and sputtering, holding his head and spitting out some blood.

"Son of a bitch!" Jackson muttered, looking at the man stumbling away, leaving behind a trail of gasoline.

"Jackson, baby, you ok?" Eliza asked.

"Hurts like a mother..." he trailed off, looking as Gervase thrashed around in the front room and noticing the puddle of gasoline that was leaking off of him. Truly, truly pissed off for the first time in the game, Jackson felt the Zippo lighter in his pocket.

"Fucker," Jackson muttered with a bit of spite, pulling the lighter from his pocket and quickly flipping it open. Spinning the wheel, he got a flame. Eliza glanced over with wide eyes, a terrified look crossing her face.

"Jackson, no!"

He dropped the Zippo to the floor, its flame touching the small puddle of gasoline that had dripped off Gervase. Almost immediately, the vapors reacted to the flame, igniting the gasoline. Quickly the fire raced over to Gervase, sending the young man screaming as he ran around the room, slamming into walls, knocking over a chair and kicking open the door as he ran outside in a ball of fire. His bright orange outline danced along in the night, disappearing into the darkness with an eerie glow.

They could still hear his screams.

Sitting down, leaning against the bars, Jackson rubbed his temples. Gervase had done a number on him, slamming him against the solid steel pipes, and the pain was excruciating. He looked around haphazardly, watching as the gasoline quickly burned out on the concrete floor. Jackson sighed, at least he didn't have to worry about the building burning down, that much was a plus. He looked around, trying to sight Eliza but not seeing her.

"Eliza?" he asked tentatively.

Listening for a response, he heard a muffled coughing followed by some sobbing. He grabbed the staff to the sledgehammer, dragging the large metal end behind him as he walked. The sharp, screeching sound of metal on concrete was loud, but not enough to drown out Eliza's whimpering entirely.

Walking the short hall between the holding cells, Jackson sighed. There she was, sitting in the cell behind the staircase, curled up in a ball in the corner, holding her flashlight limply. The sharp smell of vomit permeated through the air, and if it wasn't something that Jackson was already very accustomed to, he'd probably be sick. Standing in the doorway of the cell, Jackson spoke.

"Eliza?" he asked hesitantly. She didn't respond, simply looking off to the side as she kept seated.

"Eliza?" he asked again.

As his eyes accustomed to the dark more, Jackson could see that she had not only been sick, but she had also been crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks, causing Eliza to wipe them away with the back of her hand.

"Eliza?" Jackson asked, "Please, say something."

She sighed, looking towards Jackson with hostile eyes.

"That was Gervase out there," Eliza said in a monotone.

She paused, wiping away more tears as she shut off her flashlight.

"Gervase Rockwell," she said with conviction, "we've known him since we were freshmen. He wanted our help. He was hurt, and he wanted our help, and we fucking lit him on fire! Please forgive me if I'm not exactly in the best of moods."

Jackson sighed. This wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted, was to protect them both. Actually, what he really wanted was to get the hell out of here, but since that wasn't an option, keeping them safe until the very last moment would have to do. More than anything else, he just wanted to say that he was sorry. He wanted to just get down on his knees, beg for forgiveness and apologize profusely for what he did.

As much of a stoner as he was, Jackson knew that apologizing simply wouldn't do it. Eliza started to cry once more, pulling more at Jacksons heartstrings than he really knew how to express. With little else in mind, Jackson entered the cell that stunk of his girlfriend's vomit, sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She cried even more, leaning her head into his neck.

"I don't want to die," Eliza said through her tears.

After a brief pause, Jackson responded, "Me too," he sighed, "me too..."

They held each other for a long time, sitting in the dingy holding cell and just staying close to one another. The only interruption was from Jackson's wristwatch as the cheap device beeped harshly on the hour.

12:00 am.

One day down, two to go.


	29. Hour 24: 35 Contestants Remaining

Hour 24

35 Contestants Remaining

Just as he entered the first day of the Third Annual Battle Royale, Gervase Rockwell, a.k.a. Boy # 24, entered day two in complete and total agony. Whereas the agony he had accomplished nearly twenty-four hours ago was because of an aborted attempt at killing one psychotic bitch, this time it came from an aborted attempt to find help. Long story short, people skills were something Gervase really could have used.

He was lucky in one regard, at least, if lucky could be used to describe his situation. After being lit on fire by the class stoners, Gervase had run through the forest without any regard for the world around him. He had run by one guy who yelled in surprise as the flaming Gervase passed (Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15 as things would be, but in Gervase's world it was rather inconsequential), and stumbled over some roots from a tree. As his tortured body crumpled to the earth beneath him, Gervase found himself in an odd moment of clarity... just enough of a pause from the agony that had been his life for the past 24 hours to have the thought flash through his ruined mind just before things flashed to black, "Y'know, when life gives you lemons, the lemonade is not supposed to taste like blood."

He was pretty sure his dad had said it at one time or another, but he wasn't entirely sure on the matter. After being on fire for almost a minute, he rolled on the ground, burning some of the moist leaves with a sickening sizzle. The pain was immense. He could feel and hear his flesh burning away, he could feel it scrape off on the ground as the flames licked around him. Had he not inhaled the flames, he more than likely would have been able to smell it. Rolling some more, he felt a steep drop in the ground and fell...

...about one foot, landing in the stream that bisected the island. Rolling slightly in the shallow water, Gervase put out the fire that had consumed his body. God, it hurt. He could hear it sizzle as the water put out the flames. Through his one good eye he could see the smoke coming up from his body as it met the water. With nerve endings destroyed all over his body, he couldn't feel much except for blinding pain. _Shouldn't I be going into shock by now? Can't I go into shock now? Please?_

Rationality gone from a combination of intense pain from the fire and having survived the past twenty-four hours in severe shock (the injuries that Marie had given him earlier never healed, but the bleeding did eventually stop), he clambered to his feet. The pain radiated through his body, seizing him up as sheets of skin fell from his body. He collapsed on his back into the water, floating slightly with his mouth and nose barely above water. With nasal passages and throat seared from sucking in fire, breathing was a Herculean task, yet Gervase Rockwell, a.k.a. Boy # 24, stubborn survivor, wasn't giving up.

Besides, he'd be dead soon enough anyway.

He'd have sighed if he could, but really it was impossible. He hadn't been in his right mind since the earliest moments of the game when he had decided to play the game for his survival. He had taken his knife, planned on killing the first person he could find to take their weapon, and then do everything it took to make it to the end.

He, like many, had not expected Marie Cooper, a.k.a. Girl # 21. She had robbed him, beaten him, destroyed his face (taking out many of his teeth and causing him to bite off his tongue in the process), carved words into his chest and cut off his thumbs.

Needless to say, Gervase was in a lot of hurt. As blood loss and pain had set in, he had succumbed to shock. His body had become very cold, his flesh turning a bluish-white color as it tightened across his skin, feeling clammy to the touch. His thinking wasn't in the best of ways, and imminent death was far from his mind. All he wanted to find was help, and every person he came across had run away in fright. _Fuckin A_. Then again, the zombie-like moaning probably didn't help much.

For several hours in the middle of the day, he had stayed there, collapsed to the ground, breathing shallowly and welcoming death. He was shivering despite the midday heat, knowing that death would come soon. It didn't. The pain was gone, but so was all his energy. He would die soon, real soon, he knew it.

He didn't.

After the collapse, he had found will that he didn't know existed before and resumed his shambling, moaning ways, searching for help. By then night had fallen, and things the world was actually as dark as it seemed in his mind all along. At least that much was a plus.

Seeing a light coming from a building, he had approached it merely seeking the aid that he had searched for during the entire game. He could even recognize the face through the window, Jackson (Boy # 7), and although the boy was a stoner, he was a good guy. Gervase knew that of anyone he could trust for help, he could trust Jackson. Instead, he had a fireball thrown his way. He had run around to the other side of the building, trying to find a way in to find some shelter.

He had gotten inside, and actually started rattling the cage as things may be. Well, as things tend to go, they went downhill. Gervase wasn't thinking straight and decided to attack Jackson for trying to light him on fire earlier, and, well, this is where it got him.

If he'd still had a sense of humor, Gervase would have laughed. Instead, all he could do was lie on his back and wait for death to come.

* * *

Two figures passed before him, mere shadows. _Angels? The Grim Reaper? Hardly._

"Is he dead?" the tall one asked in a feminine voice.

"I don't know," the other female responded, "Probably."

"What happened to him?" the first asked.

"My first guess would be, a lot," the shorter, stout one replied with a soft chuckle, "come on, let's go, I saw him headed off this way."

So there he lay, on his back with eyes limply open (even though only one could actually see much of anything), his breath shallow and coming in almost a whisper. The sound of thunder, wind and the insects in the jungle filled his ears as the footsteps of the two girls disappeared.

Letting his eyes close, Gervase could feel sleep coming on. _This is it, the big sleep, the end is near. It'll all be over soon_... In some sick way, Gervase was glad. For the last day all he had known was pain, and right now ending it all didn't seem to be that bad an idea.

Footsteps, wading in the water. _Not again, can't it be over already?_ They approached, and their reaction to Gervase was rather obvious.

"Holy shit," the girl blurted out in surprise. Gervase opened his eye limply, looking on as the outline approached. They moved tentatively, getting close enough to Gervase to poke him with their foot. In no mood to move, Gervase simply lay in the shallow water. The figure then proceeded to reach down to Gervase's pants, feeling around in his pockets. _What for? Weapons? I don't have any weapons. Leave me alone to die in peace you stupid bitch._

Instead of pulling out any weapons, she pulled out his wallet.

"Fifteen bucks, you gotta be shitting me," the girl said, tossing Gervase's now-empty wallet on his chest. _No, no way you just did that. There is no way that happened. You gotta fight back Gerv, yeah, that's the ticket, fight back and take it on. You gotta show her!_

Gervase sat up with a shriek, grabbing hold of Brynn Sanchez, a.k.a. Girl # 6's, leg as she passed. She screamed, trying to get away. With a quick move, she unsheathed and swung her machete, striking Gervase firmly in the head. He let go of her leg and she kicked him away, pulling the machete blade from his skull in the process. Thoroughly freaked, she ran off.

Battered, bruised, broken and burned, Gervase fell back into the river with a large chop to the head from Brynn's machete blade. Being the stubborn survivor that he was, he was still alive, though with brain activity popping back and forth, remembering girls he'd slept with, baseball games, commercials from when he was a kid, screams from the old Braiwood Institute, friends, 9/11, Joanie Loves Chachi, mom and dad I'm sorry, blood, pain._ Fuck, what's a guy gotta do to get killed around here?_

So went the lonely death of Gervase Rockwell, a.k.a. Boy # 24.

* * *

It didn't take much for Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15, to lose all faith that he had in humanity. Sure, there were the great things that came along with it; love, friendship, honor... but then there was this. He had seen the bodies, the death and destruction that this "game" had caused. He had seen what his classmates, his _friends_ had been reduced to in order for survival. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see them. 

Homer's half corpse being eaten by vultures.

Brian split end to end.

Lisa without a head, what little of it remaining reduced to a thick paste in the bushes.

Katie shrieking maniacally, holding her scythe and swinging away at him (he shot her, but her name wasn't announced... shouldn't she be dead by now?)

Flies swarming around the remains of Peter Larkin, entering and exiting his nose and mouth as they feasted.

Sky sprawled out, shot and with her face crushed in, that one evil eye bulging out and staring into his soul.

And, most recently, a figure he couldn't identify (Gervase as things would have it), engulfed in flames and running through the jungle.

_What the fuck is going on?_

He had broken down earlier and smoked one of the joints that Jackson had given him. Searching for Lexie was turning out to be a much more difficult task than he had initially expected, and he just needed relief. True, the dope would only dull his senses and likely make him paranoid for a few hours, but god it felt good. Not that he wouldn't have given the feeling for one minute of seeing Lexie, but still, it helped take his mind off the fact that his classmates were killing each other around the island. However, seeing a classmate run around on fire while stoned out of his mind wasn't exactly what he considered a good time. If anything, that was seriously, seriously fucked up.

Matt sighed. He knew people were dying, and already he had started to become somewhat desensitized to it. Times used to be that seeing a classmate running around engulfed in flames would get a huge reaction, but after seeing the array of corpses he had seen throughout the day, it wasn't as much of a shock to him as it probably should have been. He was looking for Lexie, something even he would admit seemed rather futile at the moment. Odds were that he would've been safer staying in one place, but really, he just couldn't do that. He'd known the girl for years, never said a word to her, and now they were about to die. This seemed as good a time as any to let the feelings be known.

He was tired though. Too tired from running around all day, nearly getting killed, close encounters with Katie and Jacob (now there's a badass of the ages, if anyone could make it out of this thing it'd be Jacob). Having done one day's worth of surveying the island, he was willing to take a rest and collect his thoughts, maybe come up with a plan of action. Heading back right now to Jackson and Eliza didn't sound all that bad. He wouldn't even mind if they were screwing around right now. He really needed a friendly face.

Instead, he heard a whimpering.

He could see the female outline leaning against a tree, whimpering softly as she held her head in her hands. She was crying, that much was apparent, but Matt was hesitant nevertheless. There had been a lot of killing done during the past day, most of it done by girls. Ashley, Katie, Lori, Lara and Brynn had already gotten a sizable body count if the announcements were any indication. Nervously, Matt pulled the pistol from his belt and held it out in one hand.

"Please," she whimpered, her voice clearly quivering in fear, "help me."

Getting closer, Matt's eyes adjusted to the light and he could see who it was. Lori Nicotero (Girl # 1) had been crying for some time by the looks of it. Her clothes were tattered and spotted with blood in some areas, and the burns that dotted one side were quite apparent to the paleness of her skin. The wavy brown locks that fell about her shoulders obscured her face slightly, but even then Matt could see that the look on her face seemed to be genuine.

Still, this was Lori fuckin' Nicotero, one of the class sluts and not exactly the most trustworthy person on the planet. She was used to getting things the old fashioned way (on her back) and the fact that she always wore next to nothing didn't hurt either. Lori was beautiful in the way that most supermodels were beautiful: tall, petite, and oozing sex. This, of course, wasn't Matt's style in the slightest.

What was his style however was helping a girl who needed it, siren or not.

"Step forward," Matt said as he held the gun higher, shifting the bungee board onto his back, "real slow."

As she stepped forward into what little ambient light existed, Matt reached to his pocket and pulled out the supplied flashlight. With gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, he brought them up and pointed both to Lori, hitting the button and illuminating the girl.

"Please, no light," Lori pleaded.

"If I'm going to help you," Matt said, "I have to make sure you're not going to kill me Lori."

"Why would I kill you?" she asked innocently as Matt scanned her with his flashlight, showing that she was indeed unarmed, and indeed damn near nude.

"You and Lara killed Luke," Matt said cautiously, "they called it out in the announcement. If you did something even JJ was afraid to say, something tells me I don't want to be around you."

"But he attacked us first," she said with false sincerity, putting out her hands as if to prove her innocence, "Lara and I were just running around, trying to find out what was happening, and, and, he attacked us. We had to defend ourselves. It was horrible, he wanted to do things to us before murdering us."

"What about Lara?" Matt asked defensively, quickly darting his eyes around.

"She tried to kill me earlier," Lori responded coolly, her voice wavering slightly as if tackling difficult material, "I hit her in the head with a rock and ran off. I've just been scared, I haven't seen anyone else who's normal and you're the only one around I've met."

Still with his guard up but slowly letting it fall, Matt looked to Lori. He knew he wasn't a great judge of character, but it didn't take a genius to know that she was scared. He wanted to make a joke, wanted to make her smile somehow, but he couldn't figure out how. Instead, he just turned his flashlight off.

The light faded out and the whole world was in disarray for a moment as he let his eyes readjust. _Mental note; don't do that again_. The bright circles and colors faded into darkness soon, and once again he could make out Lori's face. She was smiling softly, tentatively, and she looked almost at peace. The only thing that caught Matt off guard was the quick glance she made over his right shoulder before looking back into his eyes.

It was then that Matt remembered something back from biology class. Biology was by far one of his least favorite subjects, then again science never did interest him. Well, physics did, but only in that it described how in fact he could prevent himself from being a victim to gravity. Anyhow, the part that Matt did enjoy about biology class was the videos. They always turned the lights out, gave ya time to sleep or at the very least watch a cool movie. Sometimes they brought in autopsy tapes, or videos of kids being born, but for the most part they were nature documentaries. One in particular that Matt always enjoyed was on animals of the African savannah. Certain predators, in an effort to attract prey, would leave one of their own with the appearance of being wounded, thereby making the prey think it was okay to walk nearby. While the prey walked about with not a care in the world, another predator would sneak up from behind and attack, tearing at the throat in a spray of gore rivaling any of the splatter flicks they did at Rialto's midnight movies.

Instinctively Matt dodged to the side, rolling on the ground towards safety. Lara Drake, a.k.a. Girl # 24 had been holding the crossbow that she and Lori had won from killing Luke at the back of Matt's neck. Another second and he would have been dead. Instead, she still pulled the trigger, sending an arrow flying in Lori's direction. The other girl didn't have time to react, and the flying arrow made a clean cut across Loris cheek. In immense pain, she screamed out as Matt started sprinting into the forest.

"You shot me!" Matt could hear her shrieking, "You shot me, you god damn bitch!"

Jumping over a downed tree, Matt looked quickly over his shoulder to find some sign of them following. What he was met with was a low whining sound, followed by a brilliant blast of white as a flare exploded ten feet in front of his eyes, blinding him temporarily and sizzling his skin with small flecks of magnesium and phosphorous. Groping around without sight, he closed his eyes and only got a flash of vibrant colors. _No, nothing. I can't see a fucking thing!_

He groped around blindly, propping himself up against a thick tree. Matt then heard a snap, followed by a whirring noise and the sound of something impacting on wood inches from his head. His face was sprayed with small flecks of bark from the tree. With his vision returning slowly, Matt could see only fleetingly a small protrusion from the tree. An arrow. _They shot a fucking arrow at me._

"Shit," he muttered to himself.

His mind didn't have time to recognize the other snap followed by a quick whir, but the blinding pain in his right bicep was unmistakable. He winced in pain, groaning miserably as blood trickled down his arm. He could see the arrow sticking from his flesh, and it hurt more than he could ever have imagined possible.

"I think I got him!" he could hear one girl say. He could then hear them running through the trees and bushes, and all Matt could do was panic.

With his good arm, he used his gun to fire off seven quick shots in their general direction. He didn't know if he had actually hit any of them, and he didn't care. They scattered, and that was all that mattered. But he knew they'd likely follow him. He could head to Jackson and Eliza easily now, but the prospect of bringing danger their way didn't really appeal to Matt. He didn't want these two sirens killing off his friends. Scratch that, a siren and a harpy. One so beautiful to lead men to their doom, the other to scratch their eyes out.

Picking up a jog, he ran away from the brig and hoped that he could find a nice, quiet, and clean place soon so that he could pull out the arrow. The bleeding was really beginning to make him nervous.


	30. Hour 25: 34 Contestants Remaining

Hour 25

34 Contestants Remaining

"I'm in for three," Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12, said as he tossed his money to the floor. Around him sat Francisco Marquez, a.k.a. Boy # 22, Jenny Reese, a.k.a. Girl # 11, and Gus O'Ryan, a.k.a. Boy # 20 in a quick and dirty game of Texas Hold 'Em. Their flashlights illuminated the tight quarters of the empty store room in the back of the mess hall. Money was basically useless for the moment, but lacking anything better it still made for good gambling.

"I'm out," Francisco said, tossing his cards to the ground while the rest anted up, then continuing his response to an earlier comment, "so what's this you said about screwups?"

"Well, not really screwups," Gus said, taking a sip of water through his hastily made mask, "just flaws in the system, at least in comparison to the ways that the other countries do it."

"Example," Paul asked, dealing the flop. Ace of spades, three of clubs, King of Spades. It was nice to Paul who had a three of spades in hand, even nicer to Gus who had two kings.

"Well, for one, we're the only country that uses belts. In Japan and France they use neck collars, one helluva lot cheaper and more efficient. I'm in for five."

As the three put in their money, Gus continued.

"Other countries probably will use the neck collars too when they get into them. These belts, these belts are random at best. Yeah, they are a good fit, but they limit movement so damn much that if you really flex yourself the wrong way you'll blow in half. Those Boston kids in the first game, hell, nearly a dozen of them blew themselves in half by accident just sticking their weapons in there or from running too fast. They're better now, good enough we can fit clothes and guns in 'em, but they're still a pain in the ass from a maintenance view."

"Other countries are getting in to this?" Jenny asked.

"Yeah," Gus drawled with something of a grin behind his mask, even though no one else could see it, "the Battle Royale act has gotten huge among the bigwigs of the world if the rumor line is right. They've seen the success rates it's had around here, and the revenue, and they want to make it more of an international thing than it is."

"Which ones?" Francisco asked, a little frightened.

Counting them out on his fingers, Gus mentioned, "Last time I heard, some countries considerin it were Argentina, South Africa, India, England and Ireland, with Russia a maybe. They all still have to pass the Act, but it's all but sure that within the next year the Battle Royale's are gonna be something of a worldwide event."

"Jesus," Francisco said, trailing off as he sat back on the floor.

"Man," Paul remarked as he lay the turn, a four of spades, on the floor, "that's fucked up. And I know fucked up, I watch fucked up, this is worse than watching an inbred cannibal bite the head off a bi-"

"You're telling me," Gus said in an effort to cut off the film geek's rant, "Still, they'll probably do things better than us. See, I'm as big a flag-waving patriot as they get, but I'm enough to admit that we got a screwed up perspective here in the States. Everything has got to be bigger and better or more modernized than anyone else. We use the belts because it gets the audience's attention more, splitting a person in half is better than an exploding throat. Product placement all over the place, pay per view cameras, rewarding those who kill in the worst manner possible... none of them other places got these. Japan, they're all about efficiency, and their system works, has for damn near sixty years."

"What about France?" Paul asked.

"They're French," Gus responded, putting his money into the pile with Paul and Jenny following suit.

"How do they treat the winners overseas?" Paul asked again, looking at his cards as he rearranged them in hand.

"Give them a pension for life," Gus said, "with fifty-two winners a year, every year for the last sixty years or so, that's a lot of people living rest of their lives for free."

"Actually sounds like kind of a sweet deal," Paul replied with admiration that even frightened him.

"It does, but it ain't," Gus responded, "at least not over here at least. See, them in Japan and in France, they do one of these competitions weekly, but they don't televise it, so it works with the crime problem like they say it should. Over here, two Battle Royales have gone down; I watched them both on the TV. Population's pretty much the same, the time it takes to make an island like this ready for TV kind of makes doing one a week next to impossible. Then you got the people arguing over who gets what endorsement, those are the _real_ big problems, it's a mess I swear."

"Yeah, but about the winners?" Paul asked.

"Yeah," Gus said, craning his neck as he rotated the cards around in his hands, "we haven't really had a winner 'round here, at least none that lasted very long. First one, they had Boston kids, had a guy named Chuck V. make it to the end, but he got hit by a grenade at the last second and fucked him up all over the place. Not enough to stop him from actually pulling a shard of metal outta his body and stab the chick that did it to him, but it did the job. He died in a hospital or something real fierce after a week or so. Next one with the Texans, well, they decided they'd hold a peace rally of sorts just to flip off the folks in charge. Fourteen kids made it to the end and then BAM, blew themselves up all over the place with smiles on their faces. That was some beautiful shit if I've ever seen it. You gonna deal the last card or what?"

Looking slightly awestruck, Paul finally remembered that he was dealing from their deck of cards. He had certainly heard of the Battle Royale's (well, come tot hink of it who hadn't?) before he was thrown into one along with his classmates, but he had never actually watched one go down. He didn't even know about the global scale of the event, but that was something to thank Gus for. Gus was the Battle Royale aficionado of the bunch, the redneck who chose to forsake professional wrestling for people actually grappling in mortal combat. It made him something of an oddity, but here in the actual competition, it made him an invaluable asset. He knew more than anyone else how things worked around here, even some of the stuff he probably wasn't supposed to know (there's a lot a curious person, redneck or not, can find out on the internet if they really want to).

Dealing the river, Paul turned up a seven of diamonds. Sevens over threes, he had two pair. He couldn't show the delight in his face, since it was a great hand (not knowing about Gus' three kings, that is) and he could milk everyone for what they were worth.

"I check," Jenny said with her face remaining still, maybe even a little nervous.

"Raise it seven," Gus said, fumbling for his wallet and dropping his bills on the floor.

"Make it ten," Paul said a bit confidently, tossing his money into the pile. As Gus met his bet, he looked over to Jenny.

"So Jenny, ya gonna drop out or are ya gonna meet the bet?"

Fumbling around delicately in her pocket, she pulled out her money and put it in the pile, stating, "I'll call."

Setting his cards out, Paul was first, "Sevens over threes, read 'em and weep."

"Not bad," Gus said with a big of a grin (hidden by his mask), "not bad at all. Still, not as good as three kings when you're playing with the big boys."

As he laid his cards out on the ground, all Paul could say was, "Crap."

Giggling a bit to himself, Gus looked to Jenny, "Well little lady, whaddya got? I don't think you can beat me, but it's up to you anyway."

She looked to the cards sheepishly, setting down one card as she said, "well, I have this."

Seven of spades, with the diamond on the floor it gave her one pair. Gus smiled, grabbing at the money and smiling, "Come to papa."

"And I've got this," she retorted, dropping a six of spades onto the ground. Ace, King, Four, Seven, Six, all spades, all belonging to Jenny, and all causing her to smile a very confident smile.

"You know you guys talk too much," she said. "You talk too much and ignore the quiet little girl sitting in the corner here, just watching the game as you guys try to outman each other with what you know. If you want to really do that, see how you measure up, you really gotta learn to be afraid of us ladies..."

She smiled her sweet smile as she collected the money.

"...we'll bleed you dry if we get the chance."

* * *

Snaking his way back inside the main door, Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, shivered. It was getting cold, very cold. _By the looks of things, it would also be raining soon. Perfect, perfect, just what we need to go along with everything else._ He had been making his rounds of the perimeter, checking with Michael, Lexie and Ashley on the roof, and although they were cold, they had not seen anything or anyone in some time. 

Walking among the rows of tables and benches that made up the main dining room of the mess hall, Carter sang softly to himself.

_"A gathering of angels, appeared above my head..."_

He walked past the aisles of bench seats, chairs and tables, tapping each idly as he passed.

_"They sang to me this song of hope, and this is what they said..."_

As he walked towards the illumination of one flashlight in the corner of the room, he could see the two cots that had been relocated from the freezer, currently occupied by Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4 and Anna Rourke, a.k.a. Girl # 7.

_"They said, come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me..."_

He paused by Katherine's cot, smiling at her beauty as she slept. He felt confident for the first time in a very long time. He was going to tell her, he knew it. She had taken to sleeping before he had gotten the chance to speak, but he wasn't going to avoid it anymore. He was going to tell her how he felt, and reaction be damned, he was going to feel good about it. At least that would be one more thing to get out of the way before they all died...

_"Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me..."_

He would have liked to consider a future beyond the next forty-eight hours, but as it was, he really couldn't bring himself to do it. Not yet at least. He did trust Anna, since in situations like this she was more often than not rather brilliant. True, she was a cold hard bitch most of the time, but she would almost always get results.

There wasn't any particular thing that had taken away Carter's hope, it was just that he literally could not see what was going to happen after the next two days. He knew how things would likely go up until the end, but after that... nothing. He shook his head, trying to send the pessimism away. He needed to stay positive, be frosty. _Come on Carter, you've made it this far, not much further._

Walking past the cots, he inched towards the door to the walk in freezer. Pulling it open (it was heavier than all hell, so it took a bit of work), Carter watched as the light from Doug's flashlight spilled out. Snaking his head in, he could see Doug Rodgers, a.k.a. Boy # 2, unconscious and hunched over the laptop, snoring loudly. Carter smiled and shook his head. He had hoped that Doug would be making some progress, but he needed sleep just as badly as anyone else. This was as good a sign as any, he guessed.

_"I thought that they were angels, but much to my surprise, they climbed aboard their starship, and headed for the skies..."_

Smiling slightly, Carter continued walking on past the small restroom to the store room to check on the rest. He walked through the musty rooms, still coated with forty-some years of grime and dust, smelling thickly of mildew, and to a lesser extent, the bodies that they had experimented on earlier. Carter could credit the coolness that much, in that it would certainly bring down the stench of the bodies on the island. Soon enough there'd be rain too, enough to wash out all the decay that they had brought.

Of course, the rain would also make the decomposition even worse, and odds were that anyone lasting into the third day (assuming the game even lasted that long) would get some sort of infection from all the rotting corpses. That much Carter wasn't looking forward to, but he was still hoping for the off chance of not being on the island at the time.

Peeking his head in on the poker game, Carter spoke up.

"Hey guys," he said with a smile, "what's the pot up to?"

"Got about seventy bucks going around here man," Gus said a bit gruffly after his loss, "want us to deal you in?"

"Nah, I'm fine," Carter said, trying to keep the mood up, "just doing the rounds, seeing how everyone's doing."

"How's Doug doin' with the laptop?" Francisco asked.

Thinking of a better way to say it than 'Doug's knocked out over his computer', Carter lied, "He's working his ass off, looks like we're making some progress. You'll hear from us when we find anything big."

"Good to know, good to know," Francisco mused, with a relieved smile. Paul and Jenny seemed to buy it as well, but it wasn't hard to read Gus' one visible eye. Carter knew that the other boy could read him and read him well, he just hoped that it wouldn't be an issue with the others.

With a few quick steps, he headed back to the walk in freezer and squeezed his way in among the narrow opening between the door and the wall. Looking for a bit of privacy, he pulled the door shut, pulling out his own flashlight and turning it on for further illumination.

He sat down tired, leaning against one of the few chairs that they had pulled into the room. Reaching out with his foot, he nudged Doug.

"Hey," Carter said, getting Doug to stir slightly.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Carter said, nudging him harder. At that, Doug awoke sharply, raising his crowbar quickly with a free hand above his head. P utting his hands out defensively, Carter jumped back onto the chair.

"What's happening?" Doug questioned wildly, "Where am I?"

"It's me Doug, ease up," Carter said.

Looking a bit ashamed, Doug set the crowbar back down on the ground, pushing his glasses up slightly so he could rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Sorry Carter," he said, "just thought I lost... control, I thought I lost it again. Sorry man, I'm, on edge, yeah."

"How'd you sleep?" Carter asked as he tried to slow his heart.

"I just wanted to rest my eyes for a second," Doug replied with a bit of a laugh, "shut 'em for maybe five seconds or so, so I wouldn't go crazy."

He checked his watch, "Shit, that was about half an hour ago."

Smiling slightly, but knowing enough to get to business, Carter asked, "Have you had any more luck with the network?"

"No," Doug said, rubbing his eyes. "It's not that I'm having a problem with the uplink, I could do that with the press of a button. Thing is though, I dunno what kind of monitoring they've got. Odds are, if I try getting in, they can trace the signal back to us and they'll just blow the belts."

"Any way you can get around it?" Carter asked.

"I think if I can get an outside line," Doug said, "maybe cannibalize one of our cell phones, I can sneak in just fine. Give me five hours and some coffee and I can get in just fine, but until then it's just operating on what's already stored in this little box."

At that, Carter sighed, because even he knew that it wasn't very much. There were some maps based around the island showing off camera and microphone locations, grids determining the danger zones (still only the starting bunker and the radio tower as of this moment), and then there were the updates.

"Still getting a feed from the satellite?" Carter asked.

Typing a string of letters into the computer, Doug responded, "That's probably the only blessing we've still got."

Carter breathed a sigh of relief, well, as much of one as he could under the circumstances. As of yet, without a direct hookup to the network, they were dead in the water. The only things the computer was really good for at the moment were the satellite updates that would come in every ten minutes. Doug was particularly grateful for these, since transmitting information would pretty much screw them over, yet at the same time receiving it was all right. For some reason that none of them really understood (probably for the maintenance crews for when they have repairs that take a particularly long amount of time was the best Doug could figure), the laptop would receive a transmission from the satellites monitoring the game every ten minutes, giving a thermal scan of the island and an up to the minute list of who had died. It wasn't much, but knowing that they were relatively isolated in the big scheme of things was comforting. The list of the dead on the other hand, was not.

"Gervase died," Doug noted to Carter as he looked at the screen, "sixteenth to go."

Looking over Doug's shoulder, Carter looked at the screen and was almost frightened with the sterility of the screen's contents. Names and numbers were listed alongside the screen, next to a map of the odd black island with odd patches of red.

B25: Savini, Nick

G13: Carpenter, Tamyra

B4: Brannick, Homer

B14: Larkin, Peter

G18: Hawk, Sky

B9: Pavell, Brian

B3: Morrow, Blake

B19: Anton, Geiger

G3: Pickford, Lisa

G22: Norris, Elena

G13: Summers, Maxine

B8: Wesson, Luke

G8: Farrell, Tammy

B6: Peters, Joshua

B10: Escobar, Jacob

B24: Rockwell, Gervase

Carter shuddered.

"You know, it's almost funny," Doug said ironically.

"Funny?" Carter asked with a bit of surprise, "There's something funny in this mess?"

"Well, not really funny," Doug said, "just kind of interesting, that's all."

"What's that?" Carter asked, leaning back to stretch his back a bit.

"Guys like Homer, or Luke, or Brian, they were the kind of guys whose life's work it would be to make mine miserable. Pick on me or humiliate me because I'm younger, or because I'm smarter, or because I'm a nerd. No, scratch that, because I was smarter than them. There wasn't a time when I thought I wouldn't be dancing on their graves should something bad happen to them. Seriously, I've had a pretty fucked up imagination, and I've seen some real bad things happening to these guys in my mind and laughed about it before."

Doug took off his glasses for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose with exhaustion, "And now I wouldn't trade anything in the world for all of us to be alive and not here. I'd take another trip in the trash can or another ass-whooping from Homer or Brian any day next to this. We don't belong here."

Leaning up against one of the freezer's walls, Carter nodded in the darkness.

"Which is why you're gonna get us out of here," he said with a smile.

Cracking the first real smile that he had had in quite some time (or so it seemed), Doug replied, "You're damned right I am."

He then turned back to the computer with more confidence than ever before and typed in a stream of letters and numbers at what seemed to be an impossible pace, "For I am invincible."


	31. Hour 26: 34 Contestants Remaining

Hour 26

34 Contestants Remaining

By all rights, Naomi Jefferson, a.k.a. Girl # 15, should have been happy. She knew it too. She had entered the Battle Royale in not the greatest of competitive spots, but almost certainly not the worst. She was right in the middle of the opening lineup, yet she was released before all the psychos (Joel, Damien and Marie to name a few; Naomi knew well enough who the fuck would be playing this game). She was also put in a spot where she could find the one she wanted to be with. It was great, almost too great...

She was also with two of her best friends, Rudy Daniels, a.k.a. Boy # 18, and his girlfriend/Naomi's swim teammate and Swim Six partner Lindsay Hill, a.k.a. Girl # 23. They had all known each other for the longest of times, and been good friends all the while.

Naomi sighed to herself. Of course, there had been some jealousy. It wasn't much at first, just a little crush that Naomi had had on Rudy since they were in grade school. He was always the cutest of things, strong and athletic before any of them really knew what strong and athletic was. She had been fawning all over him since almost the moment they had met, while Rudy, awkward and not knowing any better as most young boys tend to be, tended to ignore or shun her advances. He viewed her as a sister while she looked at him as a man.

It was like that through most of middle school, during which time both Rudy's and Naomi's families had moved to Braiwood from L.A. after those youth gangs really took over the streets. Going into high school, Naomi started to develop into a bombshell, and Rudy seemed to take notice. It was all so wonderful, and it was all falling into place nicely. _Just make a move here or there and he'll be in the palm of your hand..._

And then she came along. Tiny little thing with a short crop of dirty blonde hair, covered in odd patches of baby fat, and relatively flat-chested, as she would be for the better part of her life. She was this quiet, unassuming little mouse who no one could get the better of or really understand. Then of course she had to join the swim team, and she had to become good friends with one Naomi Jefferson.

Naomi sighed as she thought it over. That was her greatest mistake. She had become friends with Lindsay because no one else would, and being a reasonably nice person, Naomi was willing to help out the little blonde mess. She introduced her around the swim team, assisting her in making strong friends with their classmates Anna, Jenny, Sky and Lenore, the crew that would eventually become The Swim 6. She got her made over nice and fine with good makeup and hair and got her on the pill to help develop the curves. It worked.

Naomi had done the humanitarian thing, which she knew to be good for the karma, while at the same time picking up a friend in the process. Not bad for a day's work.

Then it got Shakespearean. Naomi had introduced Lindsay to Rudy offhand as a friendly gesture, and the two hit it off. They fell madly in love, and Naomi was jealous. How dare Lindsay? How dare she come in and take what was rightfully hers? That was just fucking wrong. _You do not come in and steal-_

Naomi heard a crackling in the bushes to her right and quickly drew her gun, aiming it in the direction of the sound.

"Jesus Christ, it's me!" Lindsay shrieked.

Naomi let her arm slump. If she wanted to, she could have shot Lindsay in the face, spray that pretty blonde hair of hers against a tree. It wouldn't have been hard, itchy trigger finger set it off, small spray of bone and blood and a loud pop.

But, of course she couldn't. She wanted to get together with Rudy with what little time was left, and if the announcements were blaring all over the island proudly saying that one Naomi Jefferson did kill one Lindsay Hill, then things weren't going to work out. Rudy'd be liable to up and kill her at that point (likely with his bare hands), in which case things wouldn't be quite the way she wanted them. No, no, the only way that she could work it out would be to get Lindsay to kill herself. With Rudy asleep, his head currently buried in a balled up jacket as he lie down, Naomi knew she had the perfect chance.

"I tell ya," Lindsay whispered, taking a seat next to her friend, "leaves are no substitute for toilet paper under any circumstances."

"I hear that one, girlfriend," Naomi responded with a friendly smile. "Still sick?"

"No," Lindsay responded with a bit of a grimace, "I'm better now."

Their strategy of following the stream south had all but failed, only getting them to one beach by the afternoon. Doubling back, they had found the stream to be a bit different from when they had checked it out earlier. They had passed by two bodies that were more or less indistinguishable, both mutilated beyond all reason and not even close to resembling people. They were... pieces.

Nauseated beyond belief, Lindsay had gotten sick, vomiting for a better part of the evening after discovering the second body, the burned one. It was all too much, it was crazy, and Lindsay wasn't able to handle it anymore. Rudy was all that kept her going, which at this point was more than a stretch to pull off.

"Sure about that?" Naomi asked, feigning compassion. "You were looking pretty poor there for a while."

"I'm cool," Lindsay said as she sat down next to her friend, "It's just... so wrong."

"It's all wrong, girl," Naomi said with a chuckle, "Just gotta get that one out of your head right now."

"I know," Lindsay said with a huff, "But I still don't like it. We know these people, we go to class with them every day. I just never thought that they'd all have it in them. You'd think that everyone would want to work together and not kill each other, you think that everyone would want to figure something out instead of turning into savages."

"You would, wouldn't you," Naomi commented, "But people get competitive."

"What do you mean?" Lindsay asked.

"It's like when we go to State," Naomi said, "You're told there's a trophy at the end, so you want to do everything there is to get it, right?"

"No," Lindsay said with a smile, "I always just swim because it's fun and because I'm good at it and it's good for scholarships."

"Well, ok, bad example," Naomi said, getting into the words that she had planned out, "It's just when you tell someone that it's a game, they seem to want to win it more."

Lindsay shivered, "That's... kind of creepy with this."

"It is," Naomi responded, "But, hey, that's how this fucked up thing goes after all, right? We will survive after all, right?"

"Right," Lindsay said, feeling rather content with herself. _Don't know how, don't know why, but everything's gonna be all right..._

"You know..." Naomi said, looking to Rudy quickly, then back to Lindsay in an attempt to calm her and catch her off guard, "At first I was afraid. I was petrified."

Lindsay was caught off guard, but thinking back to one of the many Swim 6 karaoke nights, she smiled. "Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side."

"Damn right," Naomi said with a smile, "And then I spent so many nights, thinkin' how you did me wrong, but I grew strong."

"And I learned how to get along..." Lindsay continued, getting into the singing.

They dueled back and forth, singing chords of "I Will Survive," an odd tune given the situation, but it also seemed rather calming. Lindsay was more than happy to get lost in the song. It wasn't the same as it would be with a box supplying the words in front of her, but it felt almost as good as the many a night gone by when the Swim 6 would celebrate victory by opening up a bottle of wine and singing karaoke until the crack of dawn. It was a good feeling.

Behind the two girls, Rudy began to stir, causing them to shut up almost immediately. He rolled over on the ground, muttering something in his sleep before going silent once more. The two girls giggled to each other.

"You think he heard us?" Lindsay asked softly.

"I think so," Naomi said, giggling some more.

The two girls just broke out into almost uncontrollable laughter, trying to comprehend the situation and laughing at the absurdity of it all. Lindsay's guard was down easily enough, and noticing the window of opportunity, Naomi took it.

Almost nonchalantly, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her personal butterfly knife and tossed it to Lindsay's feet. To Lindsay and anyone who knew Naomi it wasn't that strange a concept, as she was one to believe in self defense like any other, but it's timing did seem particularly odd.

"What's this for?" Lindsay asked with a smile, trying to get the joke and still coming down from her giggles. Whatever happiness and animation existed in Naomi's face had suddenly disappeared, suddenly cold and empty.

"You are going to ram it into your heart," Naomi whispered coldly.

"What?" Lindsay asked, suddenly afraid, yet still hoping it was just some practical joke Naomi was pulling. Going by Naomi's face, Lindsay could quickly tell it wasn't. She started to inch away with fear, at which point Naomi lifted the gun more threateningly.

"Don't even fuckin think about it," Naomi said.

Lindsay stopped, cowering back in her spot.

"You are going to take that knife, put it against that pretty little chest of yours, and ram it into your heart," Naomi hissed again, pulling out her gun and aiming it at Lindsay. Her hand shook slightly, but she steadied it as best she could. She then moved the revolver to the side, pointing its barrel at Rudy's head as he slept.

"If you don't, I shoot Rudy. The choice is yours," she whispered simply.

Coming to the realization that this was no joke, Lindsay panicked, looking to Rudy and trying to speak up. At that, Naomi cocked the hammer and aimed the gun threateningly.

"Do you really wanna see your boyfriend's brains splattered all over the ground? Do you? Then shut up!" Naomi harshly whispered once more.

Suddenly realizing she had little choice, Lindsay sat back down. Tears started to form at the corners of her eyes. She looked to Naomi pleadingly, forming the word 'Why?' with her mouth.

"I've decided to play the game," Naomi lied, going through the speech that she had rehearsed many times in her head so as to not seem like a jealous bitch.

"No offense or anything, but to this group you're not much help. Rudy and I, we're strong. You? You're liable to get us all killed."

"But you're going to kill Rudy?" Lindsay asked in a soft voice, more tears still welling up as the first ones rolled down her cheeks.

"Choice is yours," Naomi said. "Either you stab yourself and save the love of your life, or I shoot the both of you in the head. Clock's ticking girl, make your choice before I make it for you."

Lindsay wanted to cry. No, scratch that, she wanted to bawl. She wanted to scream out to the world about the unfairness of it all, about how wrong this all was. Her best friend for years on end was suddenly threatening to kill her and the man she had loved for as long as she could remember, and it was a choice that Lindsay didn't want to make. It was betrayal. It was betrayal of an unfathomable level, something she would never have seen happening on any level. Whatever happened to the Swim 6? Whatever happened to the "friends to the end?" Whatever happened to living a NORMAL FRICKIN' LIFE?

Letting the tears drop from her chin unchecked, Lindsay looked to the gun pointed at her boyfriend's head, then to the folded up knife on the ground.

Seeing the anguish on Lindsay's face, Naomi wanted to smile some. She wanted to be able to tell Lindsay how everything would be all right, that she'd take care of Rudy nice and fine, and that she'd love him like he needed be loved. It just had to be her doing the loving, not Lindsay. Still, as a friend, she really did want to comfort Lindsay, but she could not. If she broke the act, she'd lose Lindsay and blow the whole deal. _No turning back now..._ She had to get Lindsay to kill herself so that Rudy wouldn't blame her once the announcement came. She just had to...

"Come on," Naomi whispered robotically, "Make the choice. You die or you both die."

Lindsay was openly sobbing by now, not knowing what emotion to feel more. Betrayal of a best friend? Save the one you love? It was all so wrong and so clichéd it sickened her yet kept her frightened at the same time.

Hesitantly, she gave up. She reached to the floor, picking up the knife and pulling out the knife. The strip of silvery metal glinted in the little moonlight that came through, and she shuddered. So this would be it. Flipping it out deftly, Lindsay shuddered at the cold steel in her hand. She wrapped both of her hands around the blade and brought the tip to her chest. It would be easy. One thrust, break through the ribs and into the heart and it would all be over, easy as that.

"Come on, do it!" Naomi said harshly.

Feeling the point through her shirt, Lindsay sobbed softly, "I can't."

"You don't do it, he dies," Naomi said, holding the gun with more strength against Rudy's sleeping head.

"I just can't!" Lindsay pleaded.

"You do it or your boyfriend is dead!" Naomi said, raising her voice slightly.

"I can't do it!" Lindsay wailed.

"Just ram the knife into your chest, you fucking cunt!" Naomi said rather loudly.

With that, Rudy began to stir slightly on the ground, raising his head and looking up with weary eyes.

"What's happening?" he asked idly.

In one swift motion, Naomi swung her hand and the butt of the gun crashing into the back of Rudy's skull. Although he was an athlete who knew how to take a head injury, Naomi knew enough about the sweet spot on the back of the head to know that it would knock a person out with more or less one hit. It did, and Rudy was down. She just hoped it was enough that he wouldn't remember the affair, since things were definitely going to get more difficult within the next few moments.

"Rudy!" Lindsay shrieked, her eyes bugging out.

Naomi swung the gun around, firing off one shot in the blonde's direction. Lindsay, with quicker reflexes, rolled out of the way and searched the ground quickly for anything that could be used as a weapon. She found it on her first grasp, pulling off its top and launching two large spring snakes into Naomi's face. The girl was surprised, taken off guard as the plastic animals were hurled into her face.

Catching Naomi in a moment of disorientation, Lindsay rushed her friend and grabbed onto her wrists, pushing her hands further into the air. Naomi fired off another shot on instinct, not letting go of the weapon as the blonde tried to wrestle it from her grasp. Lashing out with her neck, Lindsay bit into Naomi's forearm as she wrestled for the gun.

Naomi shrieked, letting go of the gun as it flew through the air and landed nearby in the shallow stream. She slipped one hand free, punching Lindsay square in the face and sending her sprawling. Getting off her knees quickly, Naomi stood up and kicked Lindsay in the gut.

Physically smaller and wirier, Lindsay took the foot to her stomach like a freight train, doubling over and rolling on the ground. At that, Naomi started over towards the stream, intending on finding the gun. Feeling her arm bleeding from the bite, Naomi hissed, "Bitch!"

She walked over to Lindsay for a moment, kicking some dirt from the ground onto the battered girl's face. Lindsay, for her part, grabbed Naomi's foot and pulled her to the ground, scratching at her legs and punching her in the stomach with what strength she could muster.

Naomi cried out in pain as the smaller girl tore at her bare legs and pummeled her stomach. She rolled over as Lindsay crawled up her body, pressing her into the ground. Grabbing her by the hair, Naomi slammed Lindsay's head into the dirt. Once. Twice. Three times. Blood ran down her scalp as she collapsed onto the ground, her breathing disappearing into shallow gasps.

Naomi stumbled to her feet, feeling the stinging of the scratches on her legs and the bite on her arm. _Crap, this is gonna be hard to explain to Rudy. Self-defense? That'd probably be the best way to go, telling him about some crazy kid running up and attacking the both of them would be a little far-fetched. Would it? Nah, that wouldn't seem too far off. Blame it on a psycho, yeah, like Damien. Yeah, he works. Damien ran up, attacked us both. He hit you, and attacked the both of us, I tried to shoot him but accidentally hit Lindsay, but scared him off. That'd work, right? Right? It'd have to._

Naomi waded into the stream, looking at the narrow yet jet-black expanse as it crossed the ground before her. It's soft gurgling sound was almost soothing, but at the same time it was taunting. She couldn't see jack shit, and that was a fact. Wandering into the stream more, she felt the water lapping up around her ankles and then her calves. Still, she couldn't see it. Perfect, just perfect.

She looked back to Lindsay. The girl wasn't quite unconscious, shifting around slightly on the ground and groaning, but not threatening enough to wake up any time soon. Turning her attention back to the stream, Naomi got down on her hands and knees, feeling around blindly to find the gun. _Come on, you gotta be down here somewhere, I heard the splash! Rocks, old twigs, stones. No, none of that. Can't have that._ Feeling around, she felt a curved piece of wood and metal. Is that it? Yes!

She rocked the butt of the gun in her fingers, wrapping her hand around it and feeling the cold metal. It was stuck. She pulled on it hard, rocking it around even more. Still, it was stuck. It was lodged underneath a tree root or something. Getting more pissed off with every passing moment, Naomi pulled harder.

Just as it felt she was going to pull it free, the wind was knocked from Naomi's lungs, and she could see the water rushing up towards her face. She would have screamed if she could, but the opportunity wasn't there. In a fraction of a second, her head was underwater. She tried to arch her back up, but the weight held her down. Not only that, there were small hands wrapping around her neck, pushing her in further. No, no, it couldn't be.

She managed to get her head above water for a quick moment, gasping for air and sucking in some water before she was pushed underneath again. Lindsay was drowning her, that ain't right! She coughed spastically underwater, all remaining oxygen leaving her lungs as she struggled for her life. _It wasn't meant to be like this! It was supposed to be easy, remove Lindsay to get with Rudy! This wasn't supposed to happen!_

Naomi tried struggling more, holding her breath while evading the other girl's grasp. She was a swimmer, she could hold her breath underwater for a long time. She'd done it before, this was no different. She could hold it forever, wait for Lindsay to let go, and then kill her.

It burned. It burned so much in her lungs, she needed the air, and already things were turning. The world was spinning, almost disorienting.

She opened her mouth and took one breath in, her lungs filling with dirty, muddy water. Instinctively, her body spasmed, shaking and fighting for air as she thrashed about. Lindsay kept strong, holding Naomi's head under the shallow water as she breathed in liquid.

Naomi shook for the longest time, trying to get her head above water as her body went rigid for a moment, then limp.

Cautious and frightened, Lindsay kept her hands around Naomi's neck as she continued to hold the other girl's head underwater. Content that she was indeed dead, the girl stepped free from Naomi's corpse and eyed it with fear. She eyed the body of her former best friend, looking down as her remains floated face down in about six inches of water. She pushed Naomi's body with her foot roughly, but no life remained.

Naomi was dead.

She reached into the water, rocking the gun out of its trap under the roots of a tree and limped back over to her unconscious boyfriend. He wasn't dead, but for the amount of weeping that Lindsay did he might as well have been. The shock of having her best friend trying to kill her and her boyfriend was enough to really warp Lindsay, but adding another body to the River of Death as it seemed to be... Lindsay wanted to get sick again.

Instead, she sat down, cradling his head in her lap as she tried to keep from crying, and failing miserably as things tended to be.

"Rudy, come on, wake up," she said, rocking his head gently. "Come on, wake up Rudy, please. Wake up, please..."


	32. Hour 27: 33 Contestants Remaining

Hour 27

33 Contestants Remaining

In the face of tragedy and insurmountable odds, people react in different manners depending on their sensibilities. Some, like Anna Rourke and the members of SABRE, try to fight back against the odds, resisting giving in at all costs and fighting to the very end. Others, like the late Tammy Farrell, give up and accept their inevitable fate. Even more, like the former Blake Morrow, let their anger and rage get the better of them and take over their better judgment.

And then there are those, like Mike Vriess (Boy # 13), Karen Peterson (Girl # 10), and Bo Adrian (Boy # 11) who get drunk off of pieces of vodka-soaked watermelon they smuggled into Grad Nite and hit golf balls off the roof of their hideout. They had discovered in one of the many closets of the pseudo-spacious Officer's Quarters an old and rusted ammunition can filled to the brim with golf balls, and a golf bag with a few clubs that the years hadn't completely destroyed. So, being the ever-intrepid students that they were, Karen and Mike climbed to the roof, started going through Mike's stash of alcohol-soaked fruit, and aimed their balls towards what they remembered to be the direction of the barracks.

THOK.

"Got a bit of air on that one," Mike said, trying to convince himself that he could indeed see where the ball was going.

"Ummm, Big V?" Bo mentioned, pointing to his feet. The ball had moved a total of six inches, rolling off to the edge and falling to the ground below.

"In the words of the immortal Homer Simpson," Mike said with his smartass grin as he eyed the edge, "D'oh!"

The three on the roof laughed as they stood holding their clubs, looking off into the darkness that surrounded them. All three had their flashlights on, but with Mike and Bo holding CC's and Shane's guns respectively, it wasn't much of a worry. Besides, there was the large plastic baggie of watermelon cubes soaked with vodka that Bo had been guarding all during the hunting mission. Early on it had been the plan to use the contraband to make Grad Nite as tolerable as possible. Now it was making their inevitable final moments as fun as possible.

"Gimme the bag," Karen said gruffly to Bo. He held the plastic Ziploc open, as Karen balanced her golf club on one shoulder and reached in to pull out a bright red cube. Popping it into her mouth, she smiled.

"Now that's some good shit," Karen said with a wide grin, dropping the golf club down so that she could take the next drive.

"Don't you know it lass," Bo said with his thick accent and broad smile, "Been storing that melon for something of a month, makes it a helluva party."

"But, we gonna die," Mike drawled with a laugh.

"Yeah," Bo mentioned, "but we can still make it one helluva party in the meantime."

"If we can find us some bodies," Karen mentioned with something of a scowl, swinging her club and striking her ball in a good arc. A low moan could be heard to those who were really listening (caused by the ball connecting with Matt Hunter's shoulder about one hundred yards off), but they were in no mood to pay attention.

"Whaddya mean?" Bo asked, grabbing an old ball and trying to steady it on the ground.

"Well, we are in a Battle Royale," Karen said, getting a bit pissed off at the thought, "and we've killed only one person. Here we are, athletes and hunters in our prime, and we only get the chance to find and kill one person."

"Pouting 'cause you aren't a mass murderer?" Bo asked, laughing as he swung his club and missed the ball entirely, "That's a new one on me."

Before Karen could respond, Mike V. let loose with his notorious wit, interjecting, "She just forgot her Midol, just stay away man if you know what's good for ya."

Karen smiled slightly, swinging her club to connect with the back of Mike's legs. The smaller boy collapsed to the ground in pain as Karen snatched the bag of watermelon from Bo.

"Not pouting," Karen said, "Just pissed that we should be conquering this thing here and the only person we were able to take out was a guy that someone else tied to a tree like some fucking acid trip piñata. We should be fuckin' dominating."

Finally hitting the ball, and even though he may not have agreed entirely with what Karen was saying, Bo responded, "Still two more days."

"Two more days and a whole lot more people out there to kill," Mike said with a clear grin, "We got us another couple days to go out there and dominate, I'm not too worried."

"Dominate my ass," Karen said.

"Who'd want to do that?" Mike said, getting Karen to crack him across the back of the knees with her golf club once more.

"Next time it's the back of your head, and I ain't lyin," Karen said, thoroughly enjoying Mike's humor but not letting him enjoy the victory. They may have been great friends, and they may have signed in on a deal to take down the wrestling party once all was said and done in this Battle Royale, but their good-natured competitiveness had and likely would always exist. It was more a game to see who could outman the last, the wiseass or the bull dyke. It was an odd sort of symbiotic relationship, but Karen liked Big V since he could make her laugh, while Mike liked Karen because she was tough and would let him watch her make out with other girls. For them, life was good.

For Bo, it was a situation worth envying and avoiding at the same time. Since he had come to the states as a foreign exchange student, friends were few and far between. He was a good guy and a good student at heart, but being a few thousand miles away from all friends and family didn't make life any easier. Couple that with his accent that was often rather unintelligible, and he was really out of it all.

He'd taken up wrestling oddly enough as a way of making friends. It was enough like rugby, and he was already adept at breaking people in half on the field, so it didn't seem all that bad. And as for friends, it almost worked. Joel, Karen, Mike and Shane were all pretty good people on their own, but as a group, well, they tended to frighten Bo sometimes. Joel with his iron fist and overdose of testosterone, Karen and Mike with their usual bouncing off each other with violence and insults, and of course Shane, whom they treated like a pet of sorts. He liked them all, but their treatment of Shane was pretty fucked up in his mind.

Then again, he didn't mind the booze and the added protection at the moment, so things could've been one helluva lot worse. Seeing Karen and Mike beating on each other though, knowing that at the end of the next couple days they'd probably be locked in mortal combat much the same way wasn't very helpful.

Long story short, it was awful.

"You hear that?" Mike asked, breaking Bo out of his thoughts.

"Hear what?" he replied.

"Exactly. CC's screaming and the banging's stopped."

Karen looked curiously at her watch and started laughing, "Six minutes, a brand new record."

Even Bo couldn't help but laugh at the stamina of their fearless leader. God love Big V for finding something worth laughing at in this, the worst of times.

* * *

Lying down nude on a decaying, double wide bed in the Officer's Quarters, Joel Giovanello (Boy # 23) drank from one of his bottles of water. It hadn't been that successful a day in hunting as he had hoped. Shit, it was pretty fucking empty. He just wanted to sweep through the island with his crew, then blast 'em all away in a hail of pellets and blood, get through the game as quick as possible. But, that ain't gonna happen of course. Nothin ever happens to us good people. 

Joel may have been cocky as hell, but he was willing to admit that there were other people out there who were good competitors, or at least other people out there who were also dangerous. Anna of course, liberal dyke she may be, was either going to figure a way to get out or kill everybody else in the game. They called her The Ice Queen for a reason after all.

The Demon, well, he was just screwed up in general. He didn't scare Joel by any means, but the guy was genuinely messed up in the head. If there was anyone out there who was willing to take on the game besides Joel, The Demon would be it. He'd already attacked two people according to the announcement, though they were both chicks. Joel wasn't no chick, so he knew that if The Demon came by him, he'd be able to take that sick fuck on and take him out easy.

Vasquez... If there was anyone out there who could gain the respect of Joel Giovanello, it was Ashley Vasquez (Girl # 5). She had already killed two people, one of who was Peter Larkin, a.k.a. one of the school's actual badasses. If she could beat Peter to death as easily as they said, she was definitely one to look out for. Still, after what she did on that after prom party it was hard to attribute much of any real respect her way, but in a game like this she did get results.

So, killing the incapacitated Josh had been sort of anticlimactic in that regard. Joel wanted to sweep through the game as easily as possible, but he also wanted to get out of it all with a few trophy kills. If he was gonna win the whole fucking thing, he couldn't get out of the game and hold his head high if all he got was little girls and guys with broken legs. Nah, he needed some athletes, some thugs, some fellow motherfucking members of the school elite. He wanted them and he wanted them bad.

An arm draped across his chest, and Joel looked to his side in disgust.

"Shit woman, you know I don't like to be touched after sex," Joel said, pushing his girlfriend CC (Girl # 17) to the side. Like Joel, she too was nude, and both of them were covered in a light sheen of sweat from the last six minutes of sex. As always, Joel left rather satisfied, while CC just wanted to be close.

"Not even for a couple minutes?" CC asked, giving Joel the puppy dog eyes that sometimes worked. But not this time.

"No, you're all sticky and you smell like shit," Joel said.

"This whole place smells like shit," CC said, swinging her legs off the side of the bed in a huff and quickly pulling on her pants.

"Yeah," Joel said, "but it doesn't smell like the inside of your panty drawer in the middle of a hot summer day. You do, and that smells one hell of a lot worse."

"Fuck you," CC said, irritated with Joel. She liked him a lot of the time, since he was cute, was great sex (short though it may be) and would buy her things, but the rest of the time he was a royal prick.

"What'd you say?" Joel asked, looking pissed as he pulled on his boxers and sat up.

"I said fuck you!" CC said, pulling her shirt over her neck, "I could be doing better, I've got the goods. I don't need this kind of shit!"

Infuriated, Joel shot to his feet and bounded over to his girlfriend, slapping her twice in the face and pushing her to the floor.

"Listen bitch, you don't ever talk to me like that again, you understand?" he asked with fire in his eyes, "I could have left you for dead, we all could have left you for dead you useless cunt, I could've just shot you in the belly and left you screaming and crying on the ground as you bled to death but I didn't, so don't say you could be doing better you useless little bitch because if it weren't for me, you would be dead!"

CC simply cowered on the ground as tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She had seen Joel like this before, and he would hit her all the same. But he loved her, CC knew it, he'd said it many times before, and as always, it worked on her.

"I'm sorry," CC muttered as she backed into the wall.

Joel looked down to the pitiful creature that was one Carrie "CC" Collins, and the anger dissipated some from his face. He sighed, kneeling down to the ground, hugging his girlfriend and pressing an unmerciful kiss on her lips.

"It's all right," he said, "You didn't know any better."

He rubbed her hair and held her close. Not that he wanted to really, she was still all messed up from the fooling around that they had done earlier, but he needed to keep her healthy. For one, she was a great piece of ass and would really make the free time fly in this game (even if there was something slightly warped about getting a bj from a crying girl.) As well though, he needed someone dumb and weak. He wanted someone who would be completely loyal to him up until the end, make it to the final 2 so he could kill them easily. CC fit the bill perfectly. Time in and time out he had hit her or treated her badly, and always she came back for a good hard fuck. She was as dumb as a fence post, which was all Joel could have ever hoped for under the circumstances.

"Everything's going to be all right, baby," Joel said, pulling her shirt up over her stomach, "everything is going to be just fine."

She sighed, letting him disrobe her and have his way with her.

* * *

"So, you could kill anyone in the world, who would it be?" Mike asked as he positioned his golf ball on the roof. 

"Anyone in the world?" Karen asked.

"Whole wide world," Mike reaffirmed, nodding as he took a swing and sent one golf ball flying.

"Leo DiCaprio," Karen said bluntly, "Pretty boy's a lousy actor and irritating as hell. Can't tell you how many times my sister dragged me to that fuckin Titanic movie, took all I could not to just up and kill someone."

"Now, you see, this is why we don't give you a gun," Mike joked, quickly cowering as Karen raised her golf club.

"How about you Bo?" Mike asked pleadingly, desperately trying to divert her attention.

"That one's too damn easy," Bo said with a swagger and a drunken grin, "Michael Jackson."

"What? MJ? The King of Pop? Mr. Thriller?"

"Yeah, that SOB. He sleeps in an oxygen tent with a chimp and fucks young boys, you telling me that's not enough reason to kill him?"

"That's a good one," Karen said, placing her ball in the hole in the roof they had been using as a tee and lining up her shot.

"I don't know who I'd kill," Mike said, "but it'd probably be a midget."

"A midget?" Bo asked, causing Mike to turn away from Karen and look to him, "What in bloody hell you got against midgets?"

"They're short," Mike said, looking away as Karen set up her shot.

"Saw this movie on TV once when I was little, this old black and white western entirely cast with midgets. It was fucked up man, short people with their tiny hands and tiny heads and high pitched voices, all riding these miniature horses and shooting guns at each other. It'd have been funny if they weren't so damn creepy."

Karen raised her golf club, wobbling on her feet for a second as she could feel the vodka and sheer exhaustion of the day taking over. Shaking her head a bit, she took a swing as she shifted her body weight towards the edge of the building.

"Man, that is fucked up," Bo observed, eating another watermelon cube as he heard a strange thud. "What do you think Karen?"

As the two young men looked over, they could see that Karen was nowhere to be found. Her flashlight lay on the roof, rocking slightly, but no sign of their strong and rather butch friend.

"Karen?" Mike asked, somewhat wary. Bo and Mike walked over to the edge of the building, looking around with their flashlights. Indeed, there was no sign of the girl.

"Where'd she go?" Bo asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Mike said, legitimately confused. Pointing his flashlight down, he looked to the ground below him and started laughing.

"Bitch got so drunk and tipped over," Mike laughed, "Hey Karen! Move your ass!"

She lay still on the ground, her back contorted in an odd position from the twenty foot fall that had shattered her spine. Curious, but beginning to get a little frightened, Mike picked up a golf ball and threw it at her body. It impacted with a sharp thud, but simply rolled off of her body and onto the ground. She lay still.

"Oh fuck," Mike said as it sunk in.

"She dead mate?" Bo asked, legitimately concerned.

"Oh fuck!" Mike said again, this time a little more frantic.

"She is dead, ain't she?" Bo asked, eyes going wide.

Throwing another golf ball at her body, Mike nodded and tried to regain composure, "Yup. You wanna tell Joel?"

Bo hardly needed to think on the matter. "No fuckin way man, you do it, it's your bloody watermelon that got her pissed in the first place!"

"Shit, I did not need this!" Mike said, throwing his golf club in frustration into the tree line. He did not need to lose a friend, as he really did like Karen. They had been good friends for the longest time and had kicked more ass than pretty much anyone else in school. As well, Joel would definitely be pissed off, since they should have been watching out for each other.

For some odd reason though, more than anything else he was pissed off that he couldn't play golf on the roof anymore. That just really sucked.


	33. Hour 28: 32 Contestants Remaining

Hour 28

32 Contestants Remaining

The ball rolled to the side again, bouncing off the wall with a hollow rubber sound. As she had done many a time before, Serenity Powers, a.k.a. Girl # 12, kicked her soccer ball against the wall of the infirmary. It had been supplied in Cheryl's bag as some randomly assigned "weapon", but more than anything else it seemed to be a big practical joke.

Still, in the early morning hours of the Battle Royale's second day, there didn't seem to be anything better to do, at least to Serenity. Dora Janovec, a.k.a. Girl # 9, kicked back in a chair and watched her friend rolling the ball around. Ayane Fujikawa, a.k.a. Girl # 14, simply sat in her own chair, polishing and checking over the rifle she held in her hands methodically, using it as an outlet for whatever it was that she was thinking about. She winced slightly as the bullet in her shoulder shifted. Though she wouldn't admit it, infection was already beginning to set in. All of that was beyond Serenity.

"I just can't WAIT to get out of here," Serenity said, kicking the ball into the wall again, "I just want to get out of this room, off of this island and go back home."

While Serenity spoke, Dora knew enough to keep her mouth shut, while Ayane shot a sluggish and hostile gaze her way.

"I just want to go home, put in one of my CD's, take a bath and get a nice big banana split. A banana split with lots of chocolate syrup, and maybe some Oreos, and some-"

"Will you just shut up, please for the love of god will you just shut up!" Ayane said harshly, looking at her friend with strained eyes, "Even if we do get out of here, none of it is going to be the same. We'll be fugitives, we'll be criminals! We're going to spend the rest of our lives hiding in some third world country! There will be no more banana splits, no more bubble baths. There's gonna be no more fuckin Britney Spears! Just shut up and stop complaining about this room, it's all the safety we have right now."

Serenity was crushed, but looking to counter Ayane, she said, "Yeah, safe like that broken window downstairs?"

Whatever strength remained in Ayane's face disappeared as she remembered the basement. It was a simple matter really, but one that had thoroughly freaked out the members of the Brat Pack. As they had been checking the building's perimeter after Tammy had died, they had found one of the windows in the basement broken out. All in all it wasn't something that could be considered too strange, the building was forty-something years old, but the trace of fresh blood was a bit disconcerting. So, as Ayane had been freaking out, they started nailing boards over all the windows in the basement for safekeeping. Of the many things that they had seen starting to eat at Ayane, this one was one of the greatest.

And, reacting in kind, Ayane left her spot near the door and walked with a bit of waver in her step towards her office in back.

"Nice going Ser," Dora said, pissed off at the brunette as she began to follow Ayane.

"Hey," Serenity said, stopping her kicking of the ball, "I didn't put the bug up her butt. We're all in this together, she's just the only one who's taking it badly. I just want to get out of here like the rest of us."

Dora sighed, picking up one of the broken table legs that she had been carrying around as a club (being left with only a rifle for protection made Dora a bit nervous, she wanted something should someone try and break through the basement or one of their front entrances again).

"Hey, wait," Serenity pleaded, picking up the ball, "you're going to go see Ayane?"

"Yeah," Dora said, "she's doing pretty poorly, we all are. I just want to make sure she's ok."

"Well, what about me?" Serenity asked, "What happens if someone breaks in?"

Dora laughed ironically, "I dunno, scratch their eyes out? Just make sure that doesn't happen."

Serenity seemed to buy Dora's non-answer, not like it was really that hard to do. She wasn't one of the brightest bulbs in the circuit, everyone knew that, and even her closest friends knew how to placate her with a few simple answers that just went in circles.

Dora turned on her flashlight, navigating through the dark corridors of the infirmary. It still smelled old and musty, but the fact that it was cooling off made it a bit better. The occasional arcs of lightning and thundercracks made it a bit frightening, but the knowledge that there were two dead bodies right outside the building made it even worse. Dora shuddered. She had taken part in the cleanup duty, moving the remains of Maxine and Tammy out of the way along with Ayane. It was hard and messy work, and Serenity's constant vomiting didn't make the situation any better, but it needed to be done.

Still, Dora knew enough that something broke in Ayane. Something was different when they had moved Maxine's remains, but carting the two halves of Tammy away had really done it. There was something broken in Ayane, and Dora needed to know what it was. Or, at the very least, she needed to know if she could help.

Reaching the office that Ayane had claimed as her own, Dora used the chair leg and tapped on the door lightly.

"What?" Ayane asked harshly from beyond the door.

"It's Dora," she said, "can I come in?"

There was a pause, longer than Dora had hoped for, "Yes."

Dora entered the room tentatively, noting how much Ayane's office had become more of a mess than it had been before. The chalkboards were a scribbled mess of student's names, poor drawings of the island and words like 'SABER' or 'NO WAY OUT!' or 'WHY?' printed in large letters. Their maps dangled in odd patterns from the nails on the wall, moving slightly from the breeze that entered through the slats of the room's boarded up window.

However, what had to be the most pitiful sight was that of Ayane, huddled over her desk and by the looks of it, sobbing.

"Ayane?" Dora asked.

Surprised, Ayane lifted her rifle and stared at her friend standing in the doorway.

"What?" she asked, quickly rubbing her eyes to clear up.

"Are you all right?" Dora asked, legitimately concerned.

"I'm all right," Ayane said, feigning confidence as she straightened herself out more.

Dora could see it in Ayane's eyes; she wasn't doing much of anything to hide it.

"No," Dora said with conviction, "You're not all right; you're collapsing from stress."

She walked over to her friend with open arms, trying to offer what comfort she could. She set the table leg down on the floor, showing off that she did indeed come with good intentions.

"Now let me hel-"

Tossing her better hand up as she backed her chair away, Ayane spoke harshly, "Collapsing from stress? We're all collapsing. This whole fucking unit is collapsing. Everybody except you. I know you're strong, all right, so what? Stronger than me, stronger than everyone, so what? So fucking what?"

"I'm no stronger than any of us," Dora said, "and nowhere near as strong as you. You've got more will than just about anyone I know."

"Will power," Ayane said with a laugh as tears formed at the corners of her eyes, "now isn't that a fucking joke."

"It's not a joke," Dora said, "I'm getting by on will to survive here, we know there's a way out, and I know all I can do is really hope for it to work out for the best. We just need to stick together. Right now our own problems seem to be what's keeping us back. I mean, we're friends, it shouldn't be this way. Maybe if we tried working together we could ease some of the tensions. You, Brynn, me, we all seem to be pulling in different directions."

"That's the trouble with the world, Dora," Ayane said apocalyptically as a tear rolled down her cheek, "People have different ideas concerning what they want out of life."

Dora looked on dumbstruck as Ayane more or less railed against their escape. It was a complete attitude change from the confident leader who had brought them here, who had more or less assured their safety within the confines of the infirmary and established communication with the eleven members of SABRE. With them, they would be escaping the island, which was what Dora (and quite a few others) wanted more than anything else in the world.

Which is why, to Dora it seemed rather odd.

"What's wrong?" Dora asked.

"We're trapped on an island and forced to kill each other," Ayane said bluntly, wiping more tears from her cheeks.

"You know what I mean," Dora said, "you never cry unless something real is going down. Seriously, what's going on?"

Ayane steadied herself in her chair, trying to formulate her thoughts into a coherent speech. Of all the people in school, Dora was perhaps the only one she really trusted as a friend. She had confided many things in her before, and had even brought her into the Brat Pack (despite some protestations). For the first time in her life, Ayane Fujikawa, one of the most uptight and conservative individuals at Braiwood High School, was going to bare all.

"Did I ever tell you I had a brother?" Ayane asked through a tear, tilting her head up to force a bit of a smile.

"Yes," Dora said with vague recollection, "he died back in Japan when you were little, didn't he?"

Ayane nodded, "When I was eight years old... he took part in a Battle Royale."

Dora looked on in stunned silence as Ayane explained the story, having had no idea of her friends past. It would certainly explain a lot given the circumstances.

"Yousuke, he was an old romantic," Ayane said with a sense of irony, "he always liked writing poems and photography. It wasn't easy to do under the 'Great Dictator' but he managed, and found himself a girl he was desperately in love with. As it turned out, they were both taken in on the Battle Royale and had to compete against their class. They paired up all right, but between them wound up killing seven people to survive. They even made it to the end, when Yousuke's girlfriend let paranoia take her over and tried to kill him. In self defense, he shot her in the face, and lost his mind in the process."

Ayane sobbed as the emotion that had been building up in her over the last twenty-four hours started pouring out to her friend, while Dora simply looked on awestruck.

"He killed himself three months later," Ayane continued, "he would always scream and laugh and claw at the air. It was frightening, we saw him fall apart every day... Until I found him hanging in the shower from his own belt."

Ayane shuddered as Dora reached across the desk, offering her friend a comforting hand. Ayane took it in her own, then pulled away. It was too familiar.

"That's why my parents moved to the states, so it wouldn't be a problem for me," Ayane said, "When they brought up the program here, I kind of thought it would be a great thing. I mean, I knew the odds were against it, being part of the one class in the nation to be pulled into this 'game', but I thought that if I was, I'd be prepared. I would be strong, I wouldn't fall for anyone seriously and have the same problem Yousuke did. I just thought that if I never fell in love with anyone, I would never have to worry about losing them."

Closing her eyes to take in a breath, Ayane said what she needed to say more than anything else, "I screwed up though."

"You mean, you were in love with someone... in this game?" Dora asked incredulously. She and Ayane had always been close, and although she had seen a marked change in Ayane's personality over the last couple months, she had never made the connection.

Ayane simply nodded, to which Dora implored hesitantly, "Who was it?"

Ayane looked into her friends eyes and could see nothing but compassion. It wasn't a forced compassion to gain something from her (a look Ayane knew well), it was genuine caring for another human being. Ayane wasn't used to it, but just the same it was all too welcome to her.

"I was... am still with... Maxine Summers."

To say that Dora's face was the perfect look of shock would be an understatement. Of all the things Ayane could have said, honestly nothing would have surprised her more.

Ayane caught the look on her friends face and was devastated. It was a mistake. She had never come out to anyone before, and the first time she tries it, it's failure. In short, Ayane was crushed and let the tears flow, trying rapidly to do damage control.

"I didn't expect it to happen," Ayane said quickly, "it just sort of materialized. I mean, I didn't wake up one morning saying I was going to be a lesbian for fun, it just..."

She trailed off into more tears, collapsing into her chair completely. Seeing her friend in such a terrible state, Dora walked over and hugged her close, feeling Ayane's tears rolling down her shoulder.

"It's all right," Dora said, "it's all right."

"No," Ayane sobbed into her shoulder, "it's not fucking all right! My girlfriend, the one person I've ever cared for in my entire life was shot to death by one of my friends all because I didn't have the fucking guts to just come out and say, 'Hey Brynn, I'm a lesbian!' Maxine would still be alive and we'd be joining the escape mission, and, I just..."

As she trailed off, Dora simply rubbed her friends hair, holding her close and just letting it loose. She had seen many good friends through many bad times before, but Ayane finally releasing the truth that she had kept hidden for so long by far took the cake as the most important thing anyone had ever told her.

"I was just going to shoot Brynn when she walked through the door," Ayane continued, "She took something from me, I just wanted to take her."

Ayane sighed, "I loved her... Have you ever been in love before?"

Thinking for a moment of her feelings towards that one boy she could never reach (just because he had a thing for another girl more his type), Dora responded, "Not really, but I've always wanted to be."

They sat around the desk talking for most of the hour about how Maxine and Ayane had met at the prom, the few months that they had had together, and the many happy times they had spent in complete secrecy from the rest of the Brat Pack, cheerleading squad, and everyone in Braiwood in general. Ayane got off her chest what felt like years of pent up guilt, and was satisfied beyond all she could have expected.

In a brief pause in their conversation, Ayane leaned back in her chair and took a long yawn from the emotional evening.

"When's the last time you got any sleep?" Dora asked.

"Since we were gassed on the bus," Ayane said, looking at her watch, "Maybe thirty hours ago, give or take."

"Listen," Dora said, holding her friends hand, "Brynn is going to get back here soon. Hopefully. Why don't you rest up until she gets back? You won't be any good to the group if you can't even stand."

Nursing the wound in her shoulder as she stretched again, Ayane said, "I think you're right on this one. I could really use some sleep right now."

Eying the rifle, Ayane rotated the stock around so that Dora could hold it defensively, "Think you could look over things until Brynn gets back?"

With a wry grin, Dora said, "I can manage."

She took the rifle, pulling the sling over her shoulder as she stood up and helped Ayane stand up. Ayane quickly cleaned the tears from her eyes, while Dora fixed her hair to look less mussed up. The two women walked into the main room, where Serenity was still kicking the soccer ball against the wall. With rifle slung, Dora joined her friend in kicking the ball while looking to Ayane as she left.

"Get some rest," she said with a smile, "we'll be waking you real soon I think."

"I'll do my best," Ayane said with a warm smile, glad to have a friend like Dora.

Walking down a short hall, Ayane entered the darkened living quarters that they had created. The only illumination came from her flashlight as it bounced off of the bare walls, casting odd shadows all around. She let the light dance over the cots, settling on Cheryl (Girl # 16) as she lay in her cot. Her skin was beyond pale now, her eyes closed as she was still on the bed. Bright red blood covered her torso and the cot, pooling around the bucket that they had placed underneath the bed and on the floor.

Ayane sighed. By the hour Cheryl seemed to be more and more of a lost cause. She had been dying since the earliest moments of the game, and there was nothing that any of them could do about it. All of them had taken dance classes or basic skill classes or culinary arts classes. None of them seemed to find the validity in signing up in a health class, and now it showed. It would have been great to know where precisely to put pressure to prevent Cheryl from dying before their very eyes, but there was nothing that they could do.

Training the flashlight on Cheryl's face, Ayane noticed a lack of movement. Was she dead? It would make sense, she had to be. It was true that a person could theoretically survive a couple days with a bullet in their gut, but this was too far. Cheryl just wasn't big enough to make it that long losing blood all the while. _Like your shoulder? You can feel the ache spreading out can't you? Blood poisoning, it could get real bad real fast if you don't treat it..._

Shuddering over the thought of a potentially painful death, Ayane creeped on over to her friends prone body. She was silent and still. Sighing, Ayane moved her head close to Cheryl's mouth to listen for a breath, making sure once and for all.

The next sensation that Ayane could understand was a pair of hands clawing at her right arm, followed shortly by a scream into her right ear. Falling back, Ayane screamed out in fear and tried to claw herself away from the hands. They slipped from her wrist, and Cheryl could do nothing but laugh in her weak sort of way.

"Cheryl," Ayane said, "you bitch, that's not funny."

"Yes it is you fucking slut," Cheryl said, coughing lightly in her rasping breath as blood trickled from the side of her mouth. Collapsing back on her bed, Cheryl passed out, her breath taking on the same regular rasping. It wouldn't be long now, Ayane knew that. Earlier she had been screaming and thrashing or ranting incoherently. Now... now she just lay down silently, breathing shallowly.

Sighing and trying not to let it all crush her, Ayane found one of the other cots in the room. She pulled back it's old and slightly moldy blanket, lying down on the stiff and musty mattress and closed her eyes. She steadied her breathing, letting the darkness and the coolness of the room surround and embrace her. Things were pretty bad off, but getting some sleep for the first time in damn near thirty hours made it seem as if there was at least some justice in the world.

It came so quickly, her eyes and entire body feeling heavy as she touched the bed. Animation left her body, and for the first time since it all began, Ayane Fujikawa, a.k.a. Girl # 14, was at rest.

* * *

She opened her eyes, and everything was light. Music played in the background, a familiar song that she couldn't quite make out, just white noise in an otherwise familiar background. She no longer felt the dull pain in her left shoulder, nor was there that slight burning sensation whenever she breathed. It was peaceful, pleasant, all too familiar, yet still unidentifiable. 

Ayane stood up, seeing the expansive space that surrounded her. This wasn't the infirmary. She wasn't in the Battle Royale anymore, but she wasn't in her own time anymore. It was probably a dream, but it felt so right for some odd reason.

Starting to walk, Ayane took in her surroundings. Wood paneling, soft carpets, the music getting louder as she moved. She paused, looking at a fish tank that seemed centered in the room, watching the fish swim idly by, even though none of them were really moving on their own. They seemed like paper cutouts on a flat background, but Ayane really didn't mind or care. The fact that she was wearing a jet black gown seemed rather inconsequential under the circumstances, and Battle Royale sounded almost a foreign phrase...

She sighed contentedly, watching the fish swim in their tank. This was the time, she knew it now. Prom. It's when she and Maxine became she and Maxine. When under the influence of alcohol, she had stumbled across the one person in life she could truly say she had ever loved. Maybe there was a screw loose in her head, something from Yousuke's death that had just messed with her, made her bat for the other team. No matter what the reason was, Ayane had found the love in Maxine.

She smiled, reliving one of the best moments in her life. Even if it was a dream, it was such a wonderful occasion that she simply could not ignore. Whatever kind of slumber this was, it was unbelievably pleasant.

A shadow moving on the other side of the fish tank caught Ayane's eye. Could it be? No, that was impossible. Sure enough she caught a fleeting glimpse of a gown disappearing down the stairs. She took off in what felt like a sprint, her feet not quite touching the ground as she moved.

"Maxine!" she tried to cry out, though no voice came from her throat. The mist grew heavier as she bounded down the stairs, making it hard for Ayane to see even five feet in front of her. The music on the other hand became more pronounced, louder, with more of a booming than before. Something was amiss though, the music wasn't nearly as pleasant. It was playing somewhat off key, with a slight speed variation that made it ugly. It didn't sound like music, it became more an empty and constant noise with intermittent thuds. It frightened Ayane, but she pressed on.

Walking down the hall that the stairs exited into, she took off in a sprint, following the shadow she knew to be Maxine. She'd be able to say what she wanted to say while Brynn was around, she'd be able to just out and out say that she loved her, one last time before having to say goodbye.

As the mist parted even more, the music sounding more erratic and off-key, Ayane could see Maxine standing in the empty hall. She wore the beautiful gown that Ayane had always loved, causing her to smile once more. She bounded on over to Maxine, her footsteps syncing up to the wild beat of the music that surrounded her. Faster and faster she ran to Maxine, stopping only a couple feet from her dearest.

"Maxine," Ayane said once more, her voice drowned out by the pulsating sound that surrounded her. Reaching a hand out, she grabbed Maxine's shoulder gently and pulled her around softly.

The music stopped.

Ayane recoiled in horror as she saw her true love's state. She was bloodied, her chest full of gaping holes which poured out a bright red blood. One knee was ragged and pointing in an odd direction, while her right eye was a red mess. The back of her skull emptied out in a horrible mess of brain and hair. This wasn't the Maxine that Ayane had fallen in love with. This was the Maxine that she had dragged off into a corner of the field near the infirmary with Brynn.

Maxine was crying, her voice and breath almost sobbing as she shrieked, "Please, I don't want to die!"

* * *

Ayane's eyes shot wide open as the air was sucked from her lungs. It felt as if the life was being sucked from her body, and after trying to move, she could realize that this was indeed no dreams. Someone was sitting on her chest, someone big. It was too dark to see, but the irony of the matter was not lost on her. She knew from the moment he wrapped the wire of the CD Player headphones around her neck that it was none other than AJ Takagaki, a.k.a. Boy # 5. He was the only one that large, and the only one with the lack of balls to strangle a girl in her sleep. 

She tried to struggle, but as he sat on her chest, his legs pinned her arms to her sides. She thrashed around as he tightened the wire around her neck, her legs kicking at the cot and at AJ's back. Strong as she may be, she wasn't strong enough, and AJ continued to pull it tighter and tighter.

She felt like she was swimming, the world seeming further and further away as what little oxygen remained left her choked body. The blood vessels in her eyes burst one at a time, eventually making them all bloodshot as AJ strangled her. Although she couldn't see it, she could tell that he was smiling and enjoying this immensely. The nerds powerful hands tightened the cord around her neck one more time, causing her to jut out her now blood-engorged tongue as she gasped for one more breath of air and failed.

As bright white began to fade into black in Ayane Fujikawa's last lingering thoughts, she could see Maxine once more, surrounded in light as beautiful as ever. She reached out to Ayane with one hand and a warm smile.

Moments before it was total blackness, Ayane accepted the hand.

* * *

AJ stood over the dead body of the girl he had lusted over for the longest time. He had strangled her with a wire, pressing down on her so she couldn't struggle. She didn't even make a peep, with the possible exception of the noise her feet made whenever she would thrash about on the cot. Although he had known this would happen for the longest time and had wanted to do it profusely, he just couldn't help but feel that it was anticlimactic. It was already over. For years he had been looking forward to a chance to get back at the girl who had scorned him, and the moment he got it, it was over quicker than he had expected. 

As Damien had said, he deftly moved over to the pile of backpacks, located which one belonged to Brynn, and placed the CD Player and headphones in her bag, sticking out enough to be partially visible from the open zipper. If Damien had been right, this, plus the torn away boards from the window in the infirmary basement would be enough to really send things overboard for the Brat Pack.

Soon enough, things would be getting very active among the beautiful people, and although AJ still wasn't entirely sure on what he had done to Ayane, he was rather curious to see if what Damien said would happen was going to work.

"Get back in here!" Damien hissed softly from the doorway to the basement, at which point AJ soon followed him down.

It was going to get very active indeed.


	34. Hour 29: 31 Contestants Remaining

Hour 29

31 Contestants Remaining

Damien Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17 and AJ Takagaki, a.k.a. Boy # 5 descended the stairs to the basement, silently creeping around the steps and into their subterranean hideaway. The seeds had been planted, that much was sure, the rest of it was just waiting for it to materialize. Until then, the two murderers hid underneath the staircase, hiding within two old crates that used to be packed with old blankets and surgical scrubs. They were large enough to provide solace and hide them from view, especially underneath the staircase. When backed against the wall, they were completely unassuming, and the girls had been dumb enough not to check inside.

It was too easy.

As they backed inside their makeshift nests of wood and decades old surgical garments, Damien and AJ settled into their wait. It's what they'd been doing the entire time, just sitting and waiting, biding their time and talking at an odd interval. That part was the most unnerving to AJ, the sitting and the waiting. It would have been all right with anyone else, but Damien was not a big fan of chatting. Outside he was good to crack a joke or discuss Stephen King novels with. Now, in a game where he was something of a mass murderer, he was just unbelievably silent and patient.

Doubting his actions also didn't make things any better. His grudge against Ayane was strong, he had crushed on her, she had scorned him and made a fool of him in front of the entire school. Killing her was justified, right? Well, at least under these circumstances it was right, right?

AJ didn't want to be here. He wasn't supposed to be here. This was supposed to be the first day of summer, the day when he'd just get up and eat some pop tarts, watch cartoons and play D&D with his uncle all day. To some it may have seemed boring, and maybe even nerdish, but to AJ it was the life. Excitement wasn't his game, he just liked the same old, same old.

So, killing Ayane sort of wore on him as a bit off. He had killed her, it felt good at the time, but now he couldn't quite pinpoint the emotion. It felt like remorse, but he wasn't exactly sad that she was dead. Regret? Maybe. There was blood on his hands. Whose blood didn't matter, but the fact that he had killed someone was more than enough. It was a wrong feeling.

"Damien?" AJ whispered, trying to be quiet as they could still hear the thunking of the soccer ball above them.

"What?" Damien asked.

"Are you sure this is the right thing to be doing?"

"What do you mean? We're in a game where killing people is the only way to survive, of course this is the right thing to be doing."

"But, preying upon them," AJ whispered, "like lions hunting gazelle, it just doesn't seem right for some reason."

"Does what they've done to us seem right?" Damien paused as another thundercrack echoed around the building, startling the girls above by the sound of it, "They've preyed upon us for all of high school. They go after you because your fat, me because I'm a fucking freak. Do you think it's right to be called AJ the Hutt or The Demon?"

"I thought you liked being called The Demon," AJ mentioned in a whisper.

"Not at first, but it grows on you after a while. Power of suggestion, those girls made fun of me and made me into this demon I am now. Do you think I like being fucked up? Do you think I like being one of the ugly people? In another life I looked good, I had a girlfriend. What happens? This. This fucking 'accident' took my life, and I have nothing. What do these girls see fit to do? They try and chip away at my nothing. They taunt and torment until I reach the breaking point and act things out here. I get something, I get something good, something unbelievably good and something that someone like me shouldn't have, and they take it away. They take it away, and they make it seem like _my_ fault, and we can't let them do that again. We _can't_ let them take this game. We have to stop them, we have to stop them _here and now!_"

"Jesus..." AJ muttered to himself, legitimately frightened.

"Jesus has nothing to do with this," Damien said seriously.

"That's not what I meant," AJ said.

"Then what did you mean?" Damien asked.

"It's just..." AJ continued, "You're beginning to sound like one of those Columbine kids. You're sounding like one of those kids who just goes nuts one day, grabs a gun, and mows down dozens of kids at their school."

Damien started to laugh, giggling in an almost insane manner.

"I'm nothing like one of those Columbine kids," Damien mentioned with a giggle, having difficulty trying to hold it all in, "there's one big difference between me and them."

"What's that?" AJ asked, getting even more frightened as he backed into his crate.

Damien smiled with malicious glee, turning on his flashlight under his face in a frightening fashion, "The permission and encouragement of the government of The United States of America. God love this country, eh?"

With wide eyes, AJ shuddered and backed into his box even more. He didn't want it to be a coffin, but by the looks of things it probably would be. He was going to say something, but footsteps above them caught his attention. The floorboards above creaked, some dust settling down as the figure moved around.

The thuds were heavy and methodical, walking through the doorway and towards Cheryl's cot by the sounds of it. Moving around, the footsteps sounded as if they approached Ayane's cot. There was a pause.

"Ayane?" Dora's muffled voice said.

There was a pause, the air so thick they could cut through it.

"Ayane?" Dora asked again, sounding more frightened. There was another pause, followed by the sound of a startled gasp and a thud.

It had begun.

* * *

Dora Janovec, a.k.a. Girl # 9 fell to the floor, covering her mouth to stifle a scream. Ayane was dead. _Oh god, Ayane is dead_! 

She had just gone in to check on Cheryl, see if she was still alive and functioning. Turning around, she saw Ayane with her neck turned away, sleeping on her back. It looked normal enough, but something seemed odd to Dora, so she had trained her flashlight on her friends face.

She didn't even need to touch Ayane to know it, her neck was discolored, her eyes dull, her tongue hanging out limply and swollen. Crawling back to get away from the body, she stumbled into their backpacks.

Clattering out from Brynn's bag was a portable CD player with its headphones. The wire was stretched out to the max, and wrapped gently around it was one, long, jet black hair. Dora took it all in as she scanned with her flashlight, looking from the cord, to the hair, to the marks on Ayane's neck. They were very visible, almost as if they were some shining beacon saying, _"I was strangled by a wire!"_

Jumping to her feet quickly and holding her rifle high, Dora ran down the rickety wooden stairs to the basement. Lifting her flashlight to get a better view, she aimed it with intent. She knew of all the places where someone could get in, where they would go. Lo and behold, it was open.

The window had been smashed open earlier, a faint trace of fresh blood anointing the shards of glass still in the frame as they hung in the frame. Earlier, they had boarded it up and it seemed like everything would be all right. However, as she stood in front of the window once more, Dora could see that the boards had been knocked free from the window. Not only had the person broken in earlier, but they had exited and broken in again.

It had to be Brynn. She was the only one who knew where they were, she was the only one not afraid of getting shot by the sentry, and she was the only one to have anything against Tammy and Ayane, the two it seemed she had specifically targeted when it would have been just as easy to take out Cheryl who had been sleeping next to the other women. It made perfect sense, she had hated Tammy as being dead weight, and always resented Ayane for being the true leader of the Brat Pack. Brynn wanted to be the one in charge, and removing Ayane would make it all but a certainty.

She crept back up the stairs, holding the rifle defensively. Brynn could be anywhere in the room, anywhere in the building, ready to strike and kill the rest of them. Or, maybe she had the gall to just take out the other two girls and then try and escape with only the strong or those who wouldn't argue with her. Although that prospect sickened Dora, she knew it wasn't beyond Brynn.

She backed through the living quarters and into the front room where Serenity Powers, a.k.a. Girl # 12, just sat in a chair tossing Cheryl's soccer ball into the air.

"What is it?" Serenity asked.

Trying to form words with her eyes dancing around wildly, Dora just let out a gasp. Everything was coming way too fast, and although it should have rolled off her tongue, it didn't.

She jumped in fright slightly as Serenity's cell phone rang. Serenity picked it up quickly, smiling as she pulled out the aerial and hit the 'send' button.

"Yeah?" Serenity said, nodding every so often as the voice on the other end spoke up, "No prob girl, we'll be waiting for you."

Pushing in the antenna, Serenity kept her grin as she spoke, "Brynn's on her way, she got lost for a while but she's gonna be here in about ten minutes, and we are gonna be getting out of here! Thank god!"

"Ayane's dead," Dora blurted out, holding her rifle defensively.

"What?" Serenity asked, her smile disappearing slightly.

"Ayane's dead, she was strangled with a wire and, I think," Dora sputtered, "I think Brynn did it."

"What are you talking about?" Serenity asked, bewildered. Dragging her friend by the hand, Dora led the way back into their living quarters, shining her flashlight on Ayane's dead body, bulging eyes, tongue and all.

"Oh god!" Serenity said, gagging and vomiting in a corner of the room.

"Remember that window we found broken out after Tammy died?" Serenity asked, "Well, we nailed it up again afterward. Then, after I found Ayane, the boards were taken off the window. Brynn broke in after she left and killed Tammy, and now she came in, killed Ayane and is probably just waiting so she can come in and kill the rest of us."

"No," Serenity said as she wiped bile from her lips, "Brynn wouldn't do that. She's a bitch, but she wouldn't do that."

"Do you want to take that chance?" Dora asked, "Do you really want to take that chance? She could just come in here and hack the shit out of the rest of us if she wants."

"Why would she do that?" Serenity asked with fear, "You've got the rifle anyway, she wouldn't want to fight you anyway. Brynn wouldn't do that!"

Suddenly realizing her position, Dora nodded, "You're right, I do have the gun."

Making a beeline for the front room, Dora walked with a mission and cradled the rifle in her arms.

"What are you going to do?" Serenity asked, afraid of Dora all of a sudden. Dora was many things, but hostile, and a murderer, was definitely not her. It scared Serenity more than anything else, she expected Dora out of everyone else here to keep a level head, and here she was, just going nuts.

"I'm going to let Brynn in," Dora said emphatically as if she were trying to convince herself of the words, "and I'm going to kill her so she won't kill us like the rest. Then you and I are going to figure out a way to get Cheryl over to the mess hall so we can all get out of this."

"This isn't right," Serenity said, only getting Dora's deaf ears. Seeing no other possibility, Serenity took one last ditch effort to save Brynn. Grabbing the barrel of the rifle, she tried to pull it out of Dora's hands with little luck.

"What are you doing?" Dora asked, pushing the barrel more towards the door.

"I can't let you kill Brynn," Serenity responded, pushing the barrel to aim at the floor.

"She killed three people, maybe more!" Dora said with anger in her eyes.

"How do you know that? She would never kill Ayane!" Serenity responded, trying to wrench the gun from Dora's hands, only resulting in a tug of war as the women pulled at the rifle between them. Serenity had wrenched the trigger from Dora's fingers, leaving the two girls to grapple with the gun as it fell vertically between them.

"Get away from that!"

"Hey, hands off!"

"Just give me the gun!"

"No way in hell!"

"You can't do it!"

"Get away from me!"

"Just gimme the-"

BAM!

The shot echoed through the small front room the girls occupied. Taken off guard by the thundering crack, Dora fell to the floor, while Serenity stumbled a bit on her feet. The rifle itself fell to the floor, clanking loudly as it rocked into silence.

From her seat on the ground, Dora tried to regain her footing. Still, she couldn't help but notice that Serenity was trying hard to stand, her legs shaking as she balanced herself on the wall with one hand.

"Are you ok?" Dora asked.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Serenity said, coughing lightly into the back of her free hand, "I think the gun bucked me in the ribs when it went off."

Wiping the hand she had coughed into on her shirt, Serenity leaned into the wall even more. Dora's eyes went wide as she saw the streak on Serenity's top. It was bright red.

"Ser," Dora said with concern, pointing to her friends chest.

"What?" Serenity asked, looking to her shirt and then freaking out, "Oh god! OH GOD!"

She coughed more explosively, blood spraying from her lips as the wound became clear. A small hole had burned its way through her shirt, burrowing through Serenity's heart, left lung and nicking her esophagus before lodging itself in the spine at the base of her neck. As she began to freak out even more, the red stain at the base of the bullet hole expanded in wider circles as the blood began to pour. She fell to the floor, shrieking and convulsing as she vomited bright red, her back contorting into almost impossible angles as she began to spasm uncontrollably. She shook once, twice, and then paused, hissing slightly as what little oxygen was left disappeared from her lungs and the flow of blood began to slow.

Serenity's death was quick, maybe forty seconds from the time the gun accidentally went off to the time she stopped moving. Backed against the wall, a stray tear went down Dora's cheek. _I didn't mean to, I didn't want Serenity to die! It was an accident, really! Still, who's going to believe me?_ _I've already worked herself up into a rage to kill Brynn, why would killing Serenity be seen as any different?_

In all honesty, Dora felt like she was going to be sick.

* * *

Brynn Sanchez, a.k.a. Girl # 6 could hear the blasting of a rifle. _What the fuck?_ She knew that sound well, as she'd used it several times during the day to fire off warning and not-so-warning shots at the unfortunate classmates who wandered by the infirmary. She had already been hauling ass, having gotten lost in the jungle on more than one occasion (and cursing her poor sense of direction at night), but hearing the gunshot caused her to jump into a sprint. Something wasn't right here, no, something's really not right here. 

Taking off in a run, she found her way to the front door of the infirmary. Pulling out her machete defensively, she yelled, "Ayane?"

There was no answer. Eyes widening, and getting legitimately frightened, she yelled out, "Ayane? Serenity?"

Still, no answer.

"Oh fuck," Brynn said. Horrible images shot through her mind, her friends all dead as they lay sprawled about the room. She'd be left alone in the jungle, with only the half-assed SABRE team as her backup and a jungle full of fucked up psychos with guns and knives and the like. She didn't want to run into another... well, whatever the hell she chopped the shit out of earlier. She didn't know what the fuck it was and she didn't care.

"Come on, someone answer!" Brynn hollered, then lifting her machete higher, "Okay, I'm busting in!"

Holding her machete high, she swung it with all her strength at the door.

* * *

Dora could see in the dim light her flashlight offered as Brynn's machete broke through the door. She swung it several times, breaking through the wood and cracking through the one board they had nailed over it. It wouldn't take her long to get in at this rate, and Dora knew she was going to be caught. Maybe it was for the best, maybe it would be better to die for what she had done to Serenity. Sure, it was an accident, but she'd never be able to forgive herself for what happened. No one ever would. All she could do, was sit frozen and watch Brynn burst through. 

Breaking the beam that held the door shut, Brynn kicked in its remainder and swung it open wide. She entered the room, pausing as she saw Serenity's bloody body lying heaped on the floor. Dora looked on, sitting backed up against the wall like a cornered rat. There was silence between the two women as Serenity's body lay between them, broken as Brynn spoke up and Dora quickly crawled forward.

"What the fu-" Brynn tried to say as she surveyed the carnage, cut off as Dora quickly brought up her rifle and fired one shot through her temple. Brynn was killed instantly as a mixture of her brain, skull, hair and blood hit the wall, then falling to the ground as her foot twitched reflexively.

Dora stood up, clearly shaken as smoke still oozed from the barrel of her rifle. Unlike Serenity, Dora had fully intended this shooting. Brynn had murdered Maxine, Tammy, and Ayane that she was positive of. Brynn had no real interest in actually getting out of the game. No, she just wanted to play it and kill them all. Killing her was all right. _Yeah, killing her was the right thing to do._

Dora continued to psych herself up as she surveyed the ruins of the infirmary. In front of her, the remains of Serenity Powers, a.k.a. Girl # 12, lay contorted on the floor. Dora looked on sadly at Serenity. There had been no one on this planet with any more hope than her, all she ever wanted out of life was to have as much fun as she could with life and listening to her Britney Spears albums. She was nice enough, even during the occasions that she would join Brynn and Cheryl in making fun of other students.

Laying down with bent knees against the wall with a large hole bored in her skull, lay the remains of Brynn Sanchez a.k.a. Girl # 6. She wasn't exactly one of the nicest people in her time, but she always had spirit. She was always tough, with a take no shit sort of attitude that had left many a competitor and boy in her wake. She even had her moments of softness, moments when she was vulnerable and let her guard down and her humanity out. Dora had seen them, and as was her role in this little group, she had been the counselor for their problems.

Going over to Brynn's remains, Dora took the machete and removed its sheath from Brynn's leg, attaching it to her own. Sliding the machete back into its holder, she clasped it over to keep it locked in. She would make a run towards the revolutionaries in the mess hall soon enough, she just needed to be safe first. Feeling around in Brynn's pockets, she pulled out her can of mace. That would also probably come in handy.

Using all her might, she slid Brynn's remains across the floor and pushed them out the front door, trying her best not to get sick. Taking a quick look around, she could see the remains of Maxine Summers, a.k.a. Girl # 13, and Tammy Farrell, a.k.a. Girl # 8, Brynn's two earlier victims. Maxine, well, had a little bit more going on among the cheerleaders according to Ayane, but it's not something that Dora was going to hold against her. Maxine was possibly the gentlest person in school, and she didn't deserve what she got. Then again, neither did Tammy. God damn it Brynn...

Rolling Brynn's corpse out with one solid kick, Dora slammed the chopped up door shut. She wasn't gone, not quite yet anyway...

She walked back into their living quarters, looking at the remains of Ayane Fujikawa, a.k.a. Girl # 14 and one of her best friends. She had spent her last moments of life confessing her inner feelings, telling her deepest secrets and baring her soul as she had never done before. Dora was there. Dora was the last person to see her alive...

Then again she was the last person to see both Brynn and Serenity alive too, though those circumstances were a bit different.

And then of course, there was Cheryl Palmer, a.k.a. Girl # 16, who lay what appeared to be dead in the cot next to Ayane's. She had been shot in the belly more than a day ago, and spent every hour of her miserable existence since in unbelievable agony that all the members of the Brat Pack had been forced to endure. Dora was a compassionate human being, and she wanted to get everyone out alive, yet even she knew enough to say that for Cheryl, death may have been the best thing that could happen to her. She had been bleeding for a long time, and even if they did get her off the island, odds were she wouldn't have survived. Maybe it was for the best after all...

Trying to keep focused on a task that wouldn't make her sad, Dora went about packing her bag. She went through all the others' bags, taking their food, water, maps and compasses, cramming them into one bag. Then going through the rest of the building, she collected all the flashlights she could and forced them in as well. She was headed out to the SABRE base alone, and she wanted to go with everything that could get her by. Water, food, weapons, ammunition... It would have to do. It wasn't as good as it could have been, she'd much rather be surrounded by four good friends than all their food and weapons, but right now she just wanted to survive.

Taking the box of ammunition from Ayane's bag, Dora started to load the rifle. It had come in her bag when the game started, but being the pacifist that she was, Dora had handed it off to Ayane. Besides, she was the leader, she liked to be in charge, it was only fitting that she get the rifle.

She filled the gun's eight shot capacity and stood up. Cheryl was still breathing, no matter how shallow it was, but she was definitely alive. Dora sighed. This was not what she wanted. She just wanted it to be easy, give her an excuse to just run and leave the infirmary behind. But no, Cheryl was still alive. Cheryl just had to be stubborn as always and not die. It was almost laughable, though at the same time it was infuriating. She couldn't leave a friend behind, no matter how bad off they were. Leaving someone for dead is just not right under any circumstances.

Scavenging all the will she could, Dora lifted the barrel of her rifle and aimed it for Cheryl's head. Her breathing drowned out all other sounds in the room it seemed, a rasping hiss barely audible any other time dominated Dora's ears. Please, please, just let it be quick and easy.

A creak from the side took Dora out of her haze, followed by a large impact that knocked her to the floor. The rifle flew from her hands and landed on Cheryl's cot as Damien flew from the basement and into her side. AJ was soon to follow, walking behind Damien and watching as he attacked Dora.

Dora didn't know what was going on, the world flew around her and she could only feel pain. Damien was punching and kicking her mercilessly against the wall, bouncing her head against the wooden boards of the floor as his foot impacted her face. Kicking her in the ribs as she moaned in pain, Damien smiled from behind his mask.

"Please..." Dora said, holding out a hand in defense. Damien stomped down on it, shattering every one of her fingers. She cried out in pain, tears streaming from her eyes as agony became her world. It stopped for a moment, but returned quickly as it felt her scalp was on fire.

"Hold her up," Damien said harshly to AJ, pulling her by the hair.

"I don't know," AJ said, "she never really did anything man..."

"She was one of them," Damien hissed, closing his eyes as he could feel the blood pressing against the piece of metal in his skull, "she was with them, she is one of them and she deserves just the same as all of them! She could've stopped them, she could've told them not to do it, but she didn't! She let it happen, and she let them break her! All of them pigs remember, just get them all! Now, hold the fucking bitch up now before I carve you up too!"

AJ hesitantly moved over to Dora, looking down at her as he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Please, stop this," she whispered through bloody lips at AJ. Some compassion may have showed in his eyes, but nevertheless he wrapped his arms under her armpits and lifted Dora to her feet. She could hardly stand, everything aching and feeling as if she were on fire whenever she breathed. Before her stood Damien, "The Demon" as everyone else called him. His face was obscured by an old black mask of sorts, but the one arm was unmistakable. He had been one of the particular targets of Ayane, Brynn, Cheryl and Serenity, but like always, Dora would just fake a giggle and roll her eyes at their attacks. It was terrible, yet at the same time it was all understandable. Utterly defeated, Dora just let her eyes drop to the floor and cried. She just wanted to get it over with, she just wanted to let it happen so she wouldn't have to think about it much longer.

"Look up," Damien said loudly. She didn't respond, simply looking at the ground and crying.

"I SAID LOOK UP BITCH!" Damien said, wrenching her by the hair and forcing her head up so she could look him in the eye. He pulled off the fencing mask and set it on the floor, revealing his scarred and deformed visage to the beaten girl.

"Do you know why we're here?" Damien asked with a malicious grin, to which Dora simply nodded.

"Do you know what's going to happen?" Damien asked again. She nodded once more, her mouth contorting to a very frightened appearance as her eyes closed tighter.

"I didn't say close your eyes, now look at me!" Damien said, using his hand to force Dora's eyelids open. She wept as he tore at her skin, but opened her eyes nevertheless.

"I am looking at you, you son of a bitch!" Dora shrieked, trying to fight against AJ and failing.

"Ooh, feisty," Damien said mockingly, then deadly serious, "So, have you figured out yet who really killed Ayane and puppet girl?"

For Dora, the world finally collapsed in on itself. They came from the basement, the broken window, both girls dying in close proximity to the entrance to the basement... No, it couldn't be, they'd searched down there. Well, they hadn't searched under the stairs, there were only those large crates.

"No..." Dora said weakly, maybe with a bit of anger, "It's not possible."

"Just because you can't believe it," Damien said with almost childish glee, "doesn't mean it isn't true. I mean, I could tell you how much fun it was to watch Tammy squirm as I wrenched at her belt, or AJ here could tell you how much he enjoyed sitting on Ayane's chest as he choked the life out of her, but those would be inconsequentialities compared to the end result. You were a lot of fun to watch, I just didn't think it would take that much to make one of you crack and go nuts."

Dora looked up with angry, spiteful eyes as she was held defenseless by AJ. All that she had come to believe was wrong, she had done the worst things for the worst reasons, all because this one little man had a score to settle with the rest who had made fun of him. His reasons were as good as hers for killing, and he was no better.

Gathering up the last of her strength, Dora gathered her saliva and spit in Damien's face, practically shrieking, "Fuck you, you fucking freak!"

Damien hardly flinched, if anything seeming to enjoy her anger. He licked her saliva from his cheek and giggled, enjoying the situation far too much for any normal person. He walked up as close to Dora as was humanly possible, putting his mouth next to her ear.

"I was willing to make this quick," Damien whispered almost sensually, "it was hardly going to hurt, but you really hurt me. You were one of the good ones, you never called us names, but you're as bad as the rest of them. I know you won't like this, but I can say that I most certainly will."

He licked the side of her face, causing Dora to shudder from his touch. Reaching quickly into his belt, he pulled out the screwdriver he had stolen from Elena and quickly jammed it into Dora's belly. She cried out in pain as he pressed it in, and again as he jammed it into her stomach once more. Parting slightly, he repeatedly stabbed her overhand with the screwdriver, causing her to cry out and scream as blood came from her mouth. Ramming it once through her chest, it broke through to AJ causing him to groan, but none of them knew enough to know that that is what happened.

"Lift her head up," Damien said. AJ complied, pulling her head up so her dull eyes could meet Damien's. He pressed the blade of the screwdriver against the base of her throat, slowly pushing it in as blood began to form at the tip. With all she had left, Dora let out a garbled scream, muted only as Damien finally pushed through and punctured her throat, blood pouring everywhere.

"Okay," Damien said as he wiped the screwdriver methodically on Dora's shirt, "you can let her go now. I'm pretty sure she's dead."

Dropping her to the floor confirmed that Dora was indeed dead, her blood pooling in a wide pattern on the floor. AJ looked at the mess that was his shirt, but drifting his hands over his chest he could feel one definite puncture mark.

"Damien, man, I think you hit me," AJ said, showing off the small hole in his chest that was oozing blood. Damien looked to inspect the wound, and sure enough there was a stab wound.

"Sorry about that," Damien said, "I guess I got a little enthusiastic."

"Enthusiastic my ass," AJ said, "you fucking stabbed me!"

"Look, I didn't mean to," Damien said honestly, "just put some pressure on it and it should stop."

"Yeah, but what if she had an infection or something, I could pick up Hepatitis or AIDS or any number of other blood diseases."

"AJ," Damien said confidently, "relax, she wasn't one of the ones who opened her legs up to all the guys, if the high school grape vine is anything close to accurate, you should be ok."

"Yeah, well it still hurts like a son of a-"

"Hey, asshole!" a voice said weakly to their side. AJ and Damien, The Partners in Crime, looked to their side as they caught sight of one frail figure sitting curled up on a cot. It was Cheryl Palmer, a.k.a. Girl # 16. She was almost skeletal, looking like a member of the living dead with her pale skin and blood surrounding her. In her hands, she held the rifle that Dora had dropped.

"I thought she was dead!" AJ said pleadingly, trying to back away.

"She looked dead," Damien deadpanned as he looked for an exit.

Using the cot as something to brace against, Cheryl fired off seven shots in succession, three dotting AJ's chest (one exploding his heart and killing him instantly), and four hitting Damien center mass, sprawling him out on the floor.

With an ironic laugh, she fell back into her cot. The Brat Pack was dead, she was the last one standing. She was fucking bleeding to death, for more than a day, and she was the last one standing. That was more kinds of fucked up than she could really comprehend, but being the big fan of irony that she was, Cheryl just went with it.

Looking in the chamber of the rifle, Cheryl laughed. One shot left. That's not irony, that's just frickin destiny.

With the last of her strength, Cheryl rotated the gun around in his hands and placed the barrel in her mouth. Reaching out, she pressed one finger against the weapon's trigger, ending 28 hours worth of pain in a single spray of blood.

* * *

Rolling around on the floor, Damien cursed himself. It hurt like hell, but god love a bulletproof vest. He didn't like the prospect of four large bruises soon forming on his chest, but injury over death any day was all okay for Boy # 17. 

Getting up, he stretched and surveyed the scene. Everyone was dead, the Brat Pack, AJ, all of them. Cool.

Going to the basement he quickly dragged up his gear, AJ's gear and an extra blanket, stocking up on bottled water and food from the girls packs (most of which Dora had pillaged). He considered for a moment taking the rifle, but it was really a two-handed weapon. Even in death, the Brat Pack spited him by not having the common sense to get assigned a pistol. Oh well, minor setback.

Going to Dora's leg, he pulled the sheathed machete away and attached it to his own leg. Feeling around, he also pulled out her spray can of mace and pocketed it. Damien sat on the floor of the infirmary, rather proud of himself, his accomplishments, and his newly formulated arsenal. Pulling the fencing mask back over his head, he could only marvel at the things to come.

Standing in the front doorway to the infirmary, Damien breathed in the fresh air of the cloudy morning. Sun was already beginning to leak through slightly, but from the clouds it seemed like it was going to be a rainy day.

For The Demon, it was truly going to be a beautiful day.


	35. Hour 30: 26 Contestants Remaining

Hour 30

26 Contestants Remaining

At six in the morning on the second day of the Battle Royale, an event occurred that would more or less sculpt all of the events that would follow. Blood was spilled, lives were lost and allegiances questioned, which of course was the events design.

Publicly it was called a "twist", a term coined by producers of reality television for an event that shifted from the main game for the purpose of shaking things up. Privately, it was all done because the big wigs in charge of the game were less than satisfied with how many people had barricaded themselves inside structures and chose not to actively fight. It was a problem they meant to resolve from the past two Battle Royale's, but it was a tough one to combat. Now, find a reason to get them to move.

So, how would one get a bunch of high school students to move from the comparative safety of numerous ramshackle hideaways and out into the open field of combat? Easy. Big Macs.

* * *

The aged C-130 cargo plane flew low, its four massive engines droning loudly as it tried to keep beneath the clouds. The roar it made in passing over the island was great enough to wake even the deepest sleepers, while at the same time raising more than a few eyebrows and suspicions alike. 

The pilot was nervous, not liking how low he had to fly and the lightning that was arcing around. The storm was going to be fierce, the winds already bucking the crafts wings all over the place as it ambled over the island.

Reaching a pre-determined point over the island's center, the rear cargo ramp of the plane opened, unfurling a large white parachute that opened wide as the craft slowed slightly. Soon enough, the tread inside the plane wheeled the crate with stickers from McDonalds, Starbucks, Coca-Cola, Lays and Coors among others all over out the back door. With the press of a button, the plane's drop master sent the crate flying out the back of the craft, its parachute opening wide once the cord had pulled itself upon exit.

The light drizzle lapped at the canvas of the parachute, causing it to flap heavily as it opened wide. It sailed in rough winds, careening the box about as the low altitude drop increased its speed.

It was initially intended for the crate to land in the middle of some uninhabited stretch of jungle, an attempt for the geological center of the island in an effort to get everyone out, moving, and killing each other. As fate may have it, two factors changed the course of the box. The first, and perhaps the simplest, was the wind, carrying the box further north than anyone would have wanted or expected. As well, with the low altitude demanding higher speed, the pilot overshot his drop by two miles before a drop was feasible.

So, instead of landing in a patch of trees, out of grasp of any of the contestants as was initially intended, the crate coasted on air, flying north and landing in what could be considered the least hospitable places in the island, for it landed in the airfield.

Marie's Airfield.

* * *

Even though the light morning mist covered everything, it wasn't enough to short out any of the sensitive electrical equipment that dotted the island. The cameras, microphones and loudspeakers were all in impeccable condition, proven by their loud screeching to life as the Battle Royale DJ, J.J. Squalls came on for his morning shift on the second day. 

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING BATTLE ROYALE! J.J. Squalls here with you for another day of blood and mud, killin and blood spillin, greetin and beatin. Hope you are all having a wonderful time. The fans are speaking and they love you guys! Seriously, even though you're all gonna be out of here in body bags, you'll still be celebrities. Gotta love this country, eh? Well, I might as well get down to business while we're up and at 'em, here's a list of your friends and the order in which they died. Let me tell you, these last twelve hours were VERY active. First on the list is Girl # 8, Tammy Farrell, had her belt activated by Damien Myers and isn't half the woman she used to be. Next up, Boy # 6, Josh Peters, tortured by the wrestlers and finished off by a shotgun blast from Joel Giovanello. Boy #10, Jacob Escobar is next on our list, shot in the head by Marie Cooper. Next up we have Boy # 24, Gervase Rockwell. OK, I'll be the first to say I have no clue who or what precisely killed this kid. We got him down mutilated by Marie, lit on fire by Jackson Brent, and Brynn Sanchez lodge a machete in his forehead. Take your pick."

The sound of paper rustling could be heard as he went down the list, almost laughing at the irony of the next remark.

"Next up, Girl # 15, Naomi Jefferson. Miss Star Swimmer was drowned by none other than fellow swimmer Lindsay Hill. That's a Battle Royale first, well done Hill. Girl # 10, Karen Peterson was the next to die, accidentally falling off of the roof of a building and breaking her neck. OK, let me be the first to say that getting shit-faced and hitting golf balls off the roof of a building is NOT how you play this game, it gets you nowhere as Miss Peterson proves. Girl # 14 and class valedictorian, Ayane Fujikawa is the next to get fitted for a toe tag, after she was strangled to death by AJ Takagaki, instigated by Myers. Girl # 12, Serenity Powers and Girl # 6, Brynn Sanchez, were the next to die, both shot by Dora Janovec, again instigated by Myers. Damien himself struck next, murdering Girl # 9, Dora Janovec by brutally stabbing her to death in what I'm assuming could not have been a very pleasant manner. Now, for a switch, Boy # 5, AJ Takagaki was the next to die, having been shot by Cheryl Palmer, while Cheryl, Girl # 16 was the last of these twelve hours to die with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head."

"Now, two more bits of business before I send you on your way. First off, after having a direct hand in the deaths of Tammy, Ayane, Brynn, Serenity, Dora, AJ and Cheryl, Damien Myers has been awarded the best kill of the last period! Head on over to the radio tower Damien, it's temporarily not a danger zone and will be ready for you to pick up your weapon."

"And one final note, since you have all been so good in going by the rules and racking up a high body count, the powers that be have decided to reward all of you with something of a care package, parachuted down into the airfield about five minutes ago. It's our gift to you, filled with guns and explosives, including but not limited to an Uzi and fragmentation grenades, and foodstuffs from our sponsors! McDonalds, Starbucks, Coca-Cola, Lays, Nike and Coors have all donated things to make your lives a bit easier. Sorry, even though Coors is one of our sponsors, there's no tapping the Rockies for you kids! We at the Battle Royale are ardently against under-aged drinking."

Moving the needle onto a record, a familiar, pulsating, Alice Cooper guitar riff began to echo over the island.

"And for you kids, a way to welcome in the new summer..."

At that, J.J. let the mike die, letting the echoing rock music of Alice Cooper blare over the islands speakers.

"_Well we got no choice,_

_All the girls and boys,_

_Makin all that noise,_

_'Cause they found new toys,_

_Well we can't salute ya,_

_Can't find a flag,_

_If that don't suit ya,_

_That's a drag,_

_School's out for summer!_

_School's out forever!_

_School's been blown to pieces!"_

* * *

Hanging out of one window from the Officer's Quarters, Mike Vriess, a.k.a. Boy # 13, sang along with the music in a definite drunken slur. 

"School's, out, for, summer!" he shouted out the window with particular glee, coming inside only as Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23 pulled on his foot and sent him crashing to the floor.

"Knock it off asswipe," Joel said harshly, "we've got business to discuss."

"Hey, lighten up man," Mike said with a smile, "that's a classic there man!"

"A classic huh," Joel said, nodding slightly as he looked down at the sprawled Mike, "who has the shotgun here?"

"You do," Mike said a bit warily.

"Exactly. I got the shotgun, I say what's a classic, you got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Mike responded, letting his grin turn into a scowl. He'd known Joel for a while, always remaining his right hand man instead of in his way, and for a while it worked. Joel needed someone's ass kicked, Mike would help out, no sweat. He needed someone blackmailed, Mike was second to none. Need some grades changed... well, Mike couldn't do that, but he knew the right people to kick the crap out of to get grades changed, so it evened out in the end.

But, of course, as things tended to go in the Battle Royale, Big V didn't exactly trust Joel. He knew Joel was strong as hell, a great leader and one of the most intense fighters the world has ever known, but he also knew that Joel was a threat to take this all. If there was anyone willing to kill his friends when their backs were turned, it would be Joel. He'd have no compunction about putting a round into each and every one of their foreheads... and Mike couldn't have it. He liked his forehead.

So, he'd gone to their mutual friend Karen, toughest chica in school, paired up with her to kill Joel once all was said and done and they'd made it to the end. The Dynamic Duo strikes back. But, unfortunately, Karen had gotten shitfaced, broke her neck and things were at square one again. Which, for folks like Big V, was not a good thing. It ruined the plan, and it was a good plan too. The liquor sabotaged their sabotage, and it was a pain in the ass.

Joel had them all gathered around the dining room table, a cigarette dangling limply from his lips as he looked on with baggy eyes. He didn't sleep much, if at all from what they could tell, but he wouldn't let it get to him. Bo Adrian, a.k.a. Boy # 11 sat in a chair with his feet on the table, yawning widely. He had the revolver from Shane's pack tucked into the front of his pants, and although he tried to look relaxed, he was personally afraid of shooting his nuts off.

Carrie Collins, a.k.a. Girl # 17 sat by Joel, nursing the bruise that he had caused to her cheek, while Shane Raynor, a.k.a. Boy # 16, say by watching the whole proceeding like a puppy. None, save for the possible exception of Bo, had much pity for him, since to the group he really was something of a puppy. Their little retarded mascot who they could use to break people in half if they really wanted to.

"OK, you know me so I'm gonna make this short and simple," Joel said, stubbing his cigarette out on what used to be a very nice table, "we're going to go to the box they dropped."

Whereas with most groups a murmur would go up under such a suggestion, no one spoke, not to Joel, not while he had the shotgun.

"If they got a fuckin Uzi, bombs and other guns inside, we gotta get this thing so we can conquer here. Not a whole lot to it really, we're heading out of here in five. But besides, that's not the beauty part. No, no, the beauty part is that once we get there and grab all the guns, we just wait for all the other poor saps who had the same idea and just slaughter them all like dogs. We will conquer this thing yet."

Despite the fact that they could all see the fundamental flaw in Joel's plan (the fact that they might not be the first to arrive at the crate), none of them argued with the man. He was their leader, and he had the shotgun, not a good combination by any means.

"Who's we Joel?" Bo asked with a wide yawn, "Who's gonna go out and who's gonna keep up the fort?"

"Don't have the numbers for that," Joel mentioned, "we're all gonna make the run on this one here."

CC looked on with pleading eyes, but Joel simply shrugged off the look.

"Without Karen we ain't got the numbers to split up safely. We all go together we all protect each other, end of story."

"But..." CC said, "we don't have enough guns for everyone!"

"Me, Mike and Bo can handle that," Joel said smugly, "you just stay out of harms way and look cute and you'll do fine, I promise."

CC seemed to buy the explanation well enough, condescending as it was, while Shane just sat back and smiled enthusiastically. _We're gonna go out again! All right!_

Saddling up his backpack and the bandoleer of shotgun rounds, Joel looked to the rest of his troops with a combination of pride and disgust. He was proud that he had complete control over their every waking move, yet disgusted with what dead weight they were. _I mean, an extra gun or human shield on your side isn't all that bad, but they really slowed things down._

Putting some extra rounds into his main weapon, Joel smiled. _Once all's said and done, take 'em out easy. Save one shot each for Bo and Big V._ Could _probably just beat Shane's head in with the butt of the shotgun without the big guy so much as complaining once. As for CC... Press the side of the shotgun right against her throat, slowly choke the life out of her and laugh in her face as she dies about how stupid she was._

_Dear God that would be fuckin beautiful._

* * *

Limping slightly, Damien "The Demon" Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17 found his way to the radio tower. It was perhaps the islands only modern structure save for the starting bunker, and it showed. One large metal tower jutted from the center of a concrete building that looked to be made to survive a nuclear blast, while numerous smaller antennae and dishes dotted the building. They were sending out transmissions for the belts and the broadcast, the building's doing double duty. Then again, so was Braiwood High, acting as a school and a prison. 

Shaking his head slightly, Damien smiled. The red light that had surrounded this building the day prior when he was searching for AJ was no longer gone, the building instead bathed with a bright green hue extending from the overhead lights. He approached cautiously, looking around and holding his machete in hand, making sure that there weren't any opportunists trying to take the opportunity to kill a prizewinner and thereby take out great competition (as it was, Katie Snyder was en route to the site of the radio tower having figured out just that plan, but was not fast enough to have caught Damien). As the coast seemed to be clear, Damien stepped into the green light.

No damage, no beeping, very good, very good.

"ATTENTION BOY # 17 MYERS, DAMIEN," the loudspeaker from above squawked in a computerized monotone, startling Damien only slightly as he looked up to the machine, "GO TO THE METAL BOX ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE BUILDING TO COLLECT YOUR PRIZE. IF THIS IS NOT BOY # 17 MYERS, DAMIEN, THEN YOUR BELT WILL BE DETONATED WITHIN FIVE SECONDS. HAVE A NICE DAY."

_Whatever._ Damien smiled even more as he ambled on around the building, cursing the pain in his chest. He had been shot repeatedly by Cheryl, which was a definite pain in the ass under the circumstances. Still, he had a bulletproof vest which was a definite plus. However, what they don't say in the movies it seems is that bulletproof vests are not infallible and do still absorb quite a bit of impact. Already Damien had four good sized welts on his chest (he thought there were three at first, that bitch had come out shooting so fast, but no, there were four) and the one on the center of his chest really hurt like a son of a bitch. It seemed to get that exact place between the rib and the sternum, and in all likelihood cracked something. Damien was pissed to say the least, but he would survive it. It would just hurt like hell, that's all.

He found the south side of the building with some ease, a line of metal boxes of varying shapes and sizes were recessed into the side of the building. Three had already been opened (by Paul, Katie and Lara respectively), their doors swinging slightly in the winds.

Noting the flashing green klaxon above one particularly long and narrow box, Damien laughed ironically. They definitely idiot-proofed this thing to the nth degree. Sheathing his machete, he walked over to the box and tugged on the door. It swung open lazily, letting what little daylight existed pour in.

Damien gasped. It was too glorious to believe, no, no, glorious wasn't the right word. Beautiful might work, but it didn't seem fitting for such a work of art. This was perfect, hand crafted, shaped and styled by thousands of years of practice and experience to become one of the most effective melee weapons in the world.

It was a sword. Not just any sword though, but a Japanese Katana.

"Thank you," Damien gasped out, a smile practically ripping his face in half as he reached into the box tentatively. _It's almost like a Christmas present. A really fucked up Christmas present, but a Christmas present nevertheless. Slice through flesh, bone, hell, pretty much anything with the proper amount of force. Flick of the wrist and you could lop off someone's head, lickity split._

_Don't do this Damien, you've done what you came here for, and that was more than enough. You've killed the Brat Pack, now do the world a favor and end it all for both of us. Shut it Charlie, you're dead to the world now. This game was made for me, it was made for me, for you, to come in and kill again. That's another time, another place, spray your brains all over the place. Fuckin monster! Get it away! Fuck you, you fucking freak! Charlie, what happened to us?_

Trying to stop the sensations that he had become rather accustomed to, Damien closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He had to let his blood pressure drop to a certain point, and eventually the pressure on his brain that caused the sounds would stop. Until then, he dropped the sword to the ground, balled up his fist, and slammed it into the thin metal door of his prize box. It hurt, it hurt like hell, but it was a pleasant enough distraction.

And there, they stopped. That was easy enough now, wasn't it?

Using the strap from the weapon's sheath, Damien awkwardly attached the sword to his back. He tested it out gingerly, quickly pulling out the sword and re-sheathing it. With reflexes as he had, he could pull the blade out and get in one quick slash in less than a second. The sword, coupled with his machete, screwdriver and bulletproof vest made Damien something of a walking fortress, at least in his own mind. He giggled at the thought.

_Now only if that busted rib would stop fucking hurting!_

* * *

She crept through the tall grass stealthily, rifle held high on her shoulder as she prepared to fire at any moment. The wetness from the morning drizzle rubbed off onto her from the grass, which normally would cause her to curse inside. Normally. For Marie Cooper, a.k.a. Girl # 21, any unnecessary sound or sight could mean an untimely death, and that couldn't be allowed to happen. No, she had to go to _Julliard_. She had worked practically since the womb for this one single moment, and come hell or high water was a minor issue like the Battle Royale going to get in her way. 

The crate had dropped almost exactly in the middle of the airfield, about two hundred yards from the air traffic control tower which she had made into her fortress and another couple hundred yards from the hulking remains of several old airplanes which had been left in the airfield, large metal masses of rust and decay.

She approached the crate warily. She knew that there would be others approaching soon, coming for the riches within. Well, nothing would probably be good as the rifle she had been given (if that Mexican was any indication), but she didn't mind the sound of the automatic weapon and explosives that they promised.

Finally parting the high grass, she could see it. The crate itself was maybe four feet by four feet, with a long and billowing parachute strung over the grass in an oddly ghost-like manner. Not taking much time, she opened the crate with the knife she had taken from Jacob Escobar's corpse.

The top portion of the crate consisted of products all supplied by those sponsoring the Battle Royale. The T-shirts from Nike and towels from Coors she tossed to the side. Same went for the half-dozen Big Macs and large bags of Lays potato chips. _Too fatty, can't chance this figure just for one game._ The MRE's would do. She considered tossing out the bottles of Frappucino and Coke, but thought better of it. Worst case scenario they were quick and dirty energy.

Pulling out the white tarp (which she also would keep) that separated the halves of the crate, Marie would have smiled if it were possible when she saw the arsenal before her. As promised, there was an Uzi 9mm with numerous clips of ammunition. An assortment of pistols, an HK-VP70, a Desert Eagle and a silenced Glock also grabbed her attention. Some practical joker had also included a pair of Japanese nunchaku for melee combat, and although Marie didn't plan on getting into any close combat soon, she kept them too.

And then, there were the grenades. There were two boxes in the bottom portion of the crate, and Marie opened them both. The larger of the two contained 20 fragmentation grenades, loaded with nails, ball bearings and other pieces of shrapnel that would shoot out every which way and in general give anyone within range a very bad day. It was the smaller case that got Marie to crack a half-grin, impressed with the thoroughness of those in charge of the Battle Royale. There were not one, not two, not three, but five thermite grenades. Once set off, they would create an explosion of tremendous heat and light, creating a reaction that could melt through several inches of solid steel with incredible ease.

Finally knowing where everything was, she made her way back to her fortress, grabbed a rusty wheelbarrow, and packed in everything she could. Guns, ammunition, grenades, drinks, the tarp, and one of the towels (despite a rough exterior, even Marie was girly enough to admit that she'd like something soft to sit on) all went into the wheelbarrow, and back with her to the tower. She left the crate and parachute as they were, since from a distance the bright white parachute would definitely catch attention, while the opened portion of the crate would be obscured by the tall grass.

This would cause her to win, a thought that made Marie's slight smile widen just a bit more. They would come to her field, and they would die, and she would win. Excellent.


	36. Hour 31: 26 Contestants Remaining

Hour 31

26 Contestants Remaining

There were a lot of things in the world that weren't supposed to be. Pigs aren't supposed to fly, British comedy isn't supposed to be real funny, and Dora Janovec isn't supposed to be dead. It's not that Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15 doubted the morning announcement, it's just that he didn't want to believe it was true.

The two of them were friends for the better portion of high school, making an odd pairing at that. She was one of the most beautiful and kind people in the school, and a cheerleader to boot, while Matt was just the average, lowly skater-dude with more scars than brain cells as far as the rest of the world was concerned.

So, to either get rid of his fears or just confirm the horrible truth, he trudged through the forest in search of the infirmary. He knew enough of where it was, since either Brynn or Ayane had shot at him earlier the day before.

At least he wouldn't have that to worry about that anymore...

* * *

Oddly enough, considering the fact that his memory was short term at best, Matt could recall the moment they met. _Funny way that works, someone disappears form your life and you tend to remember everything about them..._ Anyhow, it was early sophomore year. Matt had snuck out for lunch with Jackson, and while Jackson opted to stay in his van and get ripped, Matt chose to head back into campus. He'd wanted to make a quick trip to the lunch room, grab a Hot Pocket or two and hightail it to class when things were started. 

Dora was sitting at her table with the rest of The Brat Pack, spoiled and self-impressed bitches that they were and laughing at whatever inane thing had caught their attention. Getting up to put away her tray, Dora walked by Fred, the school maintenance man, as he worked on one of the overhead lights. Well, one thing led to another, and the rectangular lighting fixture began to fall to Earth. Seeing Dora in the way, Matt quickly jumped in, using his head (quite literally) to stop the fall.

Ten hours later he woke up in the hospital with a pretty bad concussion and one of his soon to be trademark head injuries, and lo and behold who was waiting alongside his family to see if he was ok? None other than one Dora Janovec. Cute as a button, sweet as can be, and bearing flowers and many thanks for what Matt had done.

So, since then they had become friends, obvious differences aside. Matt would go to her school choir concerts and bring her bottled water after cheerleading practice (he'd learned to dodge the hostile glares of Brynn, Ayane and Cheryl a looong time ago), while she would join him in the occasional movie and let him teach her to skateboard. After the first couple times she'd scraped up her knees pretty decently, they were as good as a couple, even in the non-couplish sort of way.

Matt sighed. They could have been a couple, it wouldn't take that much work. They had even gone to prom together as a bit of a lark, and maybe a bit of Dora messing with the Brat Pack. Matt would have preferred to go with Lexie whom he had fallen for in the Surf and Skate Club that they were both a part of, but there was definitely worse company than Dora.

He'd gotten all shaved and snazzed up, to a point where even he could admit that he looked good with enough work. Going to pick up Dora, Matt didn't expect her to be, well, a knockout. He had been used to her usually in t-shirts or sweaters, but as Dora stepped from her front door Matt's breath was taken away. She was wearing a white dress with almost no back save a few straps and a slit that ran up her right leg. The heels she wore brought her closer to Matt's height, and with her hair up and strategically placed glitter, she looked almost like an angel. She was definitely attractive, but... Matt couldn't have feelings for her beyond a friend. His heart really did belong to Lexie Hawk, even if she didn't know it.

That didn't stop them from having a great time of course (excepting that moment the cops carried that creep out screaming and raving, that was just creepy.) Dora and Matt spent a good several hours burning up the dance floor, getting a bit flirtatious at times perhaps, though Matt couldn't take his eyes off of Lexie whenever she came in view. They even exchanged a smile from time to time, but only in passing.

There was a moment between song changes when Matt was quickly able to excuse himself, telling Dora that he promised another friend a dance. Accepting and sweet as she was, she told him to hurry on and get to it, whereupon she joined her friends. So, Matt walked across the crowded dance floor just as the DJ started "I Melt With You", pushing his way through the crowd to find Lexie. After a minutes worth of searching, the fire alarm went off, and, well, all hell broke loose. The crowd was surging, water pouring, people getting trampled and electrocuted left and right (well, only a few got shocked, but it was still pretty fucked up). Looking to the ground as he was in the hallway, Matt could see Dora getting pulled underneath the ground and trampled on. He grabbed his friend by the hand, pulling her to her feet and then leading her out the door.

Firefighters and paramedics were soon to come, carting out the injured. Besides being wet and shaken up, Matt and Dora were fine, wrapped in a warm blanket and trying to make light of the situation. Dora smiled, thanking Matt for saving her life again. Shrugging it off as he tended to do, Matt replied that it was no problem.

And then she kissed him.

She had actually kissed him. Matt didn't know how to respond, dense as he was and lousy enough not to pick up whatever signals had been developing, he just babbled off some excuse and made a run for it. Chicken shit move, she deserved better than that.

It was another week before they'd talked again. She had been humiliated, while Matt was embarrassed beyond all explanation. They'd avoided each other every chance they got, and, well, things remained awkward.

It took Matt too long as it seemed, even if it was only seven days, to get around to trying to talk to Dora again. He could have called her, e-mailed her, or shown up on her front door with a dozen roses and massive apologies to be had. Instead, he just showed up on her front door after a long day at the skate park, knocking and hoping for an answer. He just wanted to see her, to apologize, her to slap him in the face, anything. Anything was better than the silence, than what he had done to her.

Mrs. Janovec, a kind woman in her early forties whom Dora had obviously gained her beauty and charity from, let Matt in. She waved him upstairs, mentioning offhand that Dora was doing homework. Knowing the layout of the house well enough from their study sessions together (though Dora may have been a cheerleader, she was pretty damned smart), Matt made his way to meet Dora.

As always, he was struck by the music pouring from her room. If there was anything Dora valued besides her friends and family, it was her music. She wasn't exactly into the big pop stars of her time, though she did rather enjoy American Idol and aspired to try out for the show one day. She had the voice of an angel, and a hell of a set of pipes to back it up if she ever wanted to.

He walked to the doorway of her room, watching as she combed her hair and sang along with her music.

"_Strumming my pain with his fingers,"_ she mused along with Roberta Flack as she combed her hair, _"Singing my life with his words... Killing me softly with his song, killing me softly, with his song..."_

Her desk was an interesting clutter of makeup and trinkets. Pictures of her and her fellow Brat Packers lined the mirror, while Matt had his own special corner. A framed picture held an old high school photo of her big brother. Adam had always been a great guy, strong, friendly, and as loyal as they came. A drunk driver knocked him down on the sidewalk, ending his life rather quickly and almost destroying the Janovec family. Dora had remained strong through it all though, even if it was hard. Everyone really loved Adam.

Rocks carved to look like animals, a stack of CD's near an out of date player and her purse littered the surface of the desk, and Matt could only marvel. She had an orderly sort of mess to her, one of the things that made her that much more adorable and lovable as a friend.

She looked casually in the mirror to see Matt standing in the doorway and promptly screamed, falling to the floor out of her chair as Matt rushed over.

"Jesus Christ Matt!" Dora cursed, thoroughly frightened as Matt walked over to help her up.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, rubbing her elbow.

Sighing, Matt sat down on the edge of her bed as he spoke, "Apologizing."

"Yeah?" Dora asked hesitantly.

"I screwed up," Matt admitted, letting his eyes drift to the floor guiltily, "you kissed me and I acted like an asshole because of it afterward, and, well, I shouldn't have."

"No no no," Dora quickly added, "it's my fault. I was presumptuous, I thought there was something there."

"Well," Matt replied, "that's not true, we are friends and always will be if I can help it."

"Only friends?" Dora asked with a little hope.

Looking to the floor, Matt knew what he had to say. He didn't want to, but he had to.

"Yeah."

He paused, exhaling and letting it out, "I kinda got a thing for another girl."

At the time, Dora felt as if a good chunk of her had fallen away, but she was strong enough to not let it show. She was Matt's friend before anything else, she may have had feelings for him, but he was a friend first and foremost.

"Does she know?" Dora asked, successfully keeping the tears out of her eyes.

"No," Matt admitted, "I haven't had the chance to tell her."

"Well," Dora said with a bit of pride, "you tell her. You go out and tell her how you feel, and tell me how it went. However, if she says no, and she'd be a fool if she did given who you are, just know that I'll always be here and waiting."

Taking her hand in his, Matt simply said, "It's a date."

* * *

He found the infirmary as the rain began to fall a bit steadily. He pulled the edge of his baseball cap around so that it would cover his eyes, but it didn't offer as much protection as it probably should have. It didn't matter though, he could see it all well enough. 

In front of the door there was a defined shape on the ground, her dark skin and long black hair definitely making it Brynn. Around the back of her head was a hole the size of a softball, lined with red pulp, something Matt didn't want to think too much about. Further along the wall he could see three more shapes, two smaller than the other one. He guessed one was Tammy, probably the two smaller parts, while the identity of the other corpse was anyone's guess. There were so many people who died here in such a short period of time, it was insane.

He pulled out a bandanna and used it to cover his mouth and nose, trying to stifle the gag reflex that was sure to come. He couldn't be used to death yet, that'd just be wrong. More wrong than the game itself? Who knew.

Using his free hand, he pulled out the Walther PPK that Eliza had given him earlier, using it to push open the shambles of a door and step inside.

The stench of blood was overpowering as it pooled in something of a lake around Serenity's remains. Her muscles had tightened after death, her face a near perfect grimace as she lay contorted on the ground. He closed his eyes tightly, trying not to think of Sky's eye that still haunted his mind. The Evil Eye... Stop it, you got over that.

He looked to the floor, seeing a trail of footprints that led down one hall. It was literally out of a horror movie, footsteps leading off into the darkness. He didn't want to follow them, but he knew what was at the other end.

As he stepped, his feet stuck slightly to the congealing blood. He grimaced, trying not to think of it. You've been bloody before, right? Remember the time you tried to jump that rail and broke your bone so bad the bone stuck through the skin? Yeah, that's worse than this Matt.

He followed the footsteps into the hall, finding the ramshackle living quarters that the girls had set up. There were four corpses in the room, one in a cot with most of its head blown away and a rifle sticking from its mouth (Cheryl according to the announcement, though very little was identifiable as her), one laying in a cot with face and neck brutally puffed up (Ayane if the hair was any indication) and two on the floor. The large Asian one was unmistakably AJ, while he seemed to have collapsed on the other.

Resisting the urge to vomit, Matt tucked the gun back into the front of his belt and knelt down amid the gore to move AJ's body. Pushing 245 pounds of dead weight and blubber took a lot of effort, but getting his shoulder in, Matt rolled the corpse off to the side.

And there she was. She seemed tiny and pale, clothes and floor soaked through with blood as holes dotted her belly and chest. The large gaping hole in her throat was almost obscene, but offset by the calm look on her face. She seemed resigned, almost angelic. Her hair was oddly blood free, while her eyes seemed to drift pleasantly to the ceiling.

"Fuck!" Matt shouted as the moment sunk in. He stormed out of the room, getting into the front room as he paced around.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he shouted, kicking out one of the boarded windows with one powerful blow. Dora didn't deserve this, she more than just about anyone else did not deserve this. She was peaceful, she wasn't a warrior, she wasn't a monster. She just wanted to be friends.

Shifting to the side, he kicked out another window in frustration. It was all his fault. This was all because of The Demon. He killed Dora. He had to die...

No, no, killing him isn't the answer, is it?

Gathering himself together, he reentered the sleeping quarters. He was a human being first and foremost, and seeing Dora lying down there with her eyes fixed open just got to him. He knelt down beside her body, muttering a soft prayer from what little he remembered from Sunday school as a child. Given the moment, he used his free hand to close Dora's eyes.

"Dora, you were too much of an angel for this world," he said longingly, "I hope you do just as well in the next."

Trying to stifle a tear, he looked to his side and saw a sight that changed his mood. In a moment of weakness when a person is contemplating vengeance and sorrow, it doesn't take much for one to choose how they would go.

What he saw was the Dora's rifle, still propped in Cheryl's hand and mouth. What he felt was anger. And beside his thoughts of looking for the one he loved, Matt Hunter looked to make Damien pay.

* * *

A part of her was missing. She'd known about it and been conscious of it since the moment it was taken from her. It was weird in that way, since she wasn't physically hurt, not much at least. A few cuts, some scratches, an odd bruise here and there, they were all survivable. She'd had worse in softball practice or when she used to skateboard, now THOSE are injuries. 

No, of course this kind of pain had to be the one that she didn't know how to fix. She could deal with sprains, she could deal with scrapes, even fractures, but separation, well, that had screwed up Lexie Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 20, pretty good.

She'd met up with her twin sister Skyin the games earliest moments, and it all seemed like it could work out (well, as best as a Battle Royale could work out), and that they could make it to the end if they just spent the rest of their time hiding and running.

Then Brian came in, shot Sky, Paul cut Brian up, and Lexie had to finish her sister off. It was an odd kind of closure, but she had taken it hard as could be expected. Sky was her sister, hell, not just her sister. Identical twins, people who shared the same genetic pattern and maybe even the mind. Every so often they would share an emotion, or know how the other was feeling from a distance in an uncommon sixth sense sort of way. It had always comforted Lexie to get that occasional twinge that told her everything was ok on the other end.

Now there was nothing, nada, no connection, and someone she had known for almost every waking moment of her eighteen year life was no longer in hers. When friends were few and far between as it is (Lexie couldn't compare to the social butterfly that her sister was, finding friends was one of her biggest failures in high school), Lexie was on the verge of losing her grip on reality entirely. Loneliness, even among the group, had caused her to alternate between sleep and crying for a good portion of the afternoon. For Lexie, suicide wasn't entirely out of reach...

But, after spending time as a member of SABRE, she had realized that she wasn't nearly as lonely as she had first thought. It was still unbelievably oppressing not to have her sister in the world, but there were people within the group who helped her feel more human, more alive. Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12, had saved her the day before when Brian assaulted them, and had stuck by Lexie's side as much as possible. A class clown to a certain extent, he had always found the right thing to say at the right moment to keep her mood up. Gus O'Ryan, a.k.a. Boy # 20, was a great pillar of physical strength and astounding work ethic, despite the fact that much of his face had suffered horrible chemical burns earlier in the game. The fact that he had a pretty hot body didn't hurt much either.

Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5, may not have been the most optimistic about how things were going to go (she was fully willing to admit that they were all going to die), but at the same time she had spirit and a fighting attitude that was hard to dislike. In all honesty, out of all the girls here (Katherine was too girly, Jenny too-airheady and Anna too far in over her head), Lexie found the most kinship in Ashley, and was glad for it. Her spirit was strong, even if optimism wasn't in her vocabulary.

Still, out of everyone in the group, Lexie was most grateful to have Francisco Marquez, a.k.a. Boy # 22 on her side. As it was, he already had a soft spot for the girls, seeming to be the adopted guardian of Jenny Reese, a.k.a. Girl # 11, while it was also rather obvious that Katherine and Lexie herself looked up to him as well. He was strong as an ox, always smiling, and fearless when it came to doing tasks for the group, all qualities that made him rather admirable as a human being. Though, if Lexie had to choose, the thing about him that made Francisco the best member of SABRE was his unending optimism. No matter how bad things got, no matter how little hope there seemed to be, Frank The Tank seemed to keep his smiles. He had the ultimate faith in Anna and whatever plans she dreamed up, and would work to rally the others whenever they would doubt her.

She was thankful to have all these new friends, even if she wasn't exactly fond of what they were talking about.

"So are we going for the crate or what?" Ashley groaned through chin-ups as she pulled herself up on a pipe that crossed the ceiling of the mess hall. She had tired of lethargy and simply waiting around, especially once the rain hit, and had taken to pushups on the old dining tables and chin-ups from the old pipe.

"I don't know," Francisco added, rubbing his fingers through the stubble of a beard he'd grown, "don't know what to think about it myself."

"It's a trap," Michael said, leaning back on a table and tossing a quarter into the air, "they want us to do something, herd us around like rats in a fucking maze. That box is out there just to get us to kill each other."

"Yeah," Paul added as he used a twig to clean the spokes of his chainsaw, "but don't you like Big Macs? They're gooood."

"Good my ass," Michael responded angrily, "they want us to die, and there is no way I'm dying in a fucking rat maze, not here, not now, not ever."

"Then don't," Ashley replied, "don't die in this fucking rat maze, help us fight, help us get out of here, but for god's sake stop complainin! You complaining doesn't help us any."

"You're one to talk," Michael almost hissed, "you're just kicking back here, I haven't seen you really getting into the whole revolutionary act. When have you done anything to help in the escape? When have you ever said our group's name? When have you said SABRE?"

"I haven't mentioned the name because it's asinine," Ashley responded, "I do as I'm told 'cause I'm right comfortable being a cog right now. I'll help out how I need to and how I'm best right now, but I ain't doing the hero thing and putting my ass on the line without damn good reason."

"What's a good reason then?" Michael asked, getting their audience that had gathered to look a bit more hesitant as a fight seemed to be brewing.

"Get our asses out of here," Ashley responded, "no more, no less. Not to offend or anything, but we're in a game where killing's the key, I trust you guys and I don't trust you guys, but if you're all good for escape I'm siding with you."

"And if we weren't?" Michael asked.

"Then we probably wouldn't be here," Ashley said, dropping from the bar and sitting down with a shrug.

"Hey, guys," Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4 interjected soothingly, "this isn't helping anyone. We need to stick together here! Like it or not, we're all we got right here, and whatever plan those three are thinking up in there is something we should at least hear out before writing it off. Still, we are not going to get anywhere if we are constantly against each other. Please, please just stop fighting."

Ashley and Michael exchanged a look and a soft nod before turning away. It was true that Anna, Doug and Carter had barricaded themselves inside the meat locker momentarily to formulate a plan of action regarding the crate and what to do about it, but as they had discussed things, they were going to do it democratically. Whatever plans the ones in charge had come up with, they'd need to vote on, or at least garner support for before going ahead with them.

"Hey," Doug Rodgers, a.k.a. Boy # 2 said as he inched open the door to the meat locker, "come on in guys."

With that, the eight members of SABRE sitting in the mess hall joined the three in the meat locker, becoming their entire group for the last time in the game.

* * *

Anna laid the plan out easily and in simple terms. She was always a great orator, and after a while she could convince anyone to do pretty much anything. However, finding a receptive audience among a small group of people who did not want to die was something of a difficult task, especially when she rationalized herself and Doug as too important to go out into the field with the rest. 

"Look, it's safe," Anna said, "everyone else is going to stick to the roads and buildings, all you really have to do is go through the hills to the airfield. It will take longer to get there, but it will be safer, and either way you're still bound to meet people around the field itself."

"But what about people playing this game?" Michael asked, "Damien or Marie or Joel, what if they just go to the airfield, wait for us and then just slaughter us all?"

"If anything goes wrong," Anna added, "just run to the west, hike down the cliffs and run along the beach until you get back here. There's enough rocks and crevasses for you to hide in and around and avoid detection. If things go south before you get here, head as a group back here. If you get separated, listen for an announcement, and meet up at the airfield if it's safe, back here if it's not."

"What if the stuff is already taken should we get there?" Michael asked again.

"Then just run back to camp as fast as is safely possible, hills, roads or otherwise. Once everyone's back here, we make it off the island irregardless."

"Look," Carter mentioned, "None of you are obligated to go with me and none of us are saying that it won't be dangerous, because it will be. But, if we pull this off, we will be able to get out of here without having to worry about anyone trying to stop us, and if we're lucky, we can get more people to come with us."

As silence reined in the room, people looked around with mixed emotions. Some looked apathetic, some looked scared, some enthusiastic, some even a little pissed. Nevertheless, Carter let out a clichéd, yet tried and true line to see what support he would receive, "So, who's with me?"

"I'll go man," Gus said from behind his mask as he stood up, "shit, I'll go."

"No dice cowboy," Anna interjected, "if you don't have both eyes good you won't be any good to any of us."

"Thanks for thinking about it at least," Gus responded as he sat back down.

"Anyone else?" Carter asked, a little nervous at some of the cold hard stares that he was getting from the people he considered his friends. Most seemed hesitant, some seemed harsh. It was not exactly a desirable course of action to go on a suicide run to pick up some weapons, but honestly the benefits did seem to overshadow the potential downsides. Should they succeed, they were likely to find other people and make their escape easier. Honestly, how could that be bad?

"I'll go," a voice from the back said. Heads turned as Ashley Vasquez looked confidently to Carter. It was a voice few expected to hear given her stance on what they knew her stance on heroism to be, but given Ashley's sense of honor, she had to do it. Carter had saved her once, got her out of a jam when nobody else was willing to, and it was the only way she could pay him back.

"If she's goin," Paul said with his cocky grin, "I'm going too. If the movies are any indication, you're going to need somebody with a chainsaw."

"You can count me in," Katherine said a bit softly, smiling to Carter gently, getting him to smile back.

"Me too," Francisco said, confidently carrying the police baton that Ashley had given him, "You need someone strong to carry anyone if anyone gets hurt, I'm the strongest guy here, I'll go."

Lexie looked around distressed, three of her closest friends on the island were going to head on out. _No! That's not supposed to happen!_ She'd lost Sky, she couldn't lose the rest of them too.

"All right, five ought to do it," Anna said, "just stick with whatever weapons you've got, we have enough to hunker down here in camp for a while, take only weapons, flashlights, ammo and water. Stick to the hills in the west, although they'll take longer, the roads are basically inviting people to shoot you."

"Wait," Lexie said as she broke from her fugue, "I'm going too."

Anna looked hesitantly at the girl who had been going in and out of shell shock since she had been at base camp, but the fact remained that Lexie was a tough girl and competent with the handgun that she currently possessed.

"All right, you too," Anna said as she passed the other girl over, "same rules though, weapons, lights and water only, everything you don't need for on the run you leave here. Time is short people, so let's get moving!"

The six who were to make the trek to the airfield immediately set to arming themselves and packing their gear lightly. Anything and everything resembling a jacket or windbreaker was taken along, though in the end only Carter, Katherine and Lexie had much in the way of protection from the rain. All six had their map pouches hanging around their necks, an invaluable tool on the off chance that any of them get lost.

Lexie and Katherine both packed their bags with bottles of water and all the ammunition for their guns, while Ashley made sure that her improvised scattergun was still in working condition. Not wanting to take any chances, she tucked her trusty tire iron into the back of her belt, and pocketed the pair of brass knuckles she had found while scavenging.

While none of the guys had much in the way of guns, they were armed enough to keep them confident of their survival. Carter was without pack, but carried with him Anna's baseball bat (identical to the one that Lexie had been assigned and also carried with her). Paul still had his trademark chainsaw, though had a half-dozen hand grenades he had won by killing Brian added to the arsenal.

Carrying the lions share of the groups goods though was, as always, Francisco. He carried in his pack most of their bottled water, a few MRE's and one of their cellular phones (the other phone from the expeditionary group being held by Carter). While his stature would suggest that he'd be more fond of a big gun, Francisco was very content with the police baton that Ashley had given him and the ice pick he had stolen from Josh. Anything other than that almost useless roll of duct-tape would've made Francisco happy, though being with the group that he was with, he couldn't have been much happier.

And, after five minutes of preparation, the six members of the SABRE Expeditionary Force were ready to head out the front door. Jenny and Michael had chosen not to see them off (both of them being rather pessimistic about the whole mission and not wanting to see their friends off to their deaths), while Gus, Anna and Doug were seeing them off for their final preparations.

"Here," Doug said, handing each of them a piece of bright orange fabric that had been cannibalized from Gus' t-shirt, "tie this around your head or your arm. We'll be able to tell who's who out there, and you can do the same. That, and we won't shoot at you."

"But you've only got that revolver and the tranq gun," Paul mentioned jokingly.

"Well, we still won't shoot at you," Doug replied deadpan.

"Now," Anna said over Doug as she addressed Carter, "remember, stick to the hills, grab what you can."

"I got it," Carter said.

"Only fight back if someone starts something, otherwise we should try and get them to-"

"Anna, I got it, relax," Carter said with a calm smile, "we'll be there and back in no time. If anything happens, you'll hear about in the announcements, and if that does, then get everyone and get your asses out of here."

"Here's hoping it doesn't come to that," Anna said, letting a bit of compassion come through.

"Amen to that," Carter said, "but we'll make it back here, I'm sure of it."

Breaking from her cold façade for just the slightest moment, Anna pulled Carter into a warm hug. Pushing him away just as quickly, she shot out, "Now don't let anyone know I did that."

"No worries," Carter replied, "I don't think anyone would believe me anyway

Pulling up the hood on his windbreaker, Carter looked to Francisco, Ashley, Paul, Katherine and Lexie, the five who would join him on the mission to the airfield. They were a motley group at the very best, but were as strong as any of the others. They were almost family in some regard, but all with like minds and as strong-willed as it got. In short, Carter couldn't have chosen a better group to go with.

"Okay guys, let's get this over with!" Carter exclaimed, opening the front door to the mess hall and walking out into the rain. Katherine followed shortly behind him, then Francisco and Lexie. Paul and Ashley kept up the rear, looking around defensively as they held their weapons.

Anna, Gus and Doug looked on hopefully from the front door as their six fellow revolutionaries disappeared into the rain, then the woods. No words were exchanged, just a long look as the six members of SABRE walked away in hopes of making the escape that much more worthwhile.

But of course, as many in the coming hours were soon to find out, they didn't count on Marie.


	37. Hour 32: 26 Contestants Remaining

Hour 32

26 Contestants Remaining

According to the map, it was the brig. Military prison, where the worst of the worst are sent, though by the looks of this two story tall concrete shack it was probably just a holding cell for drunk marines who got a little too shitfaced during shore leave. There wasn't much special about it, really just an ordinary two story concrete building with a couple small windows here and there. However, none of that interested Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23. No, the building was inconsequential. What interested Joel more than anything else was the smoke that was leaking out of the building's small chimney. It was hard to discern in the driving rain, but it was definitely there.

He sat beneath a large tree, getting limited protection from the water that fell from the sky as he smoked a cigarette. They sat far enough from the building (and away from any of the exposed windows) that there was nothing to fear in regards to being spotted, while their scout... Their scout would make sure the coast was clear.

"It's been five minutes," Mike complained, looking at his watch and then to the front door of the Brig off in the distance, "he should be back by now. I told you we should've gone in there guns blazing and just gotten this over with! Not sending in some 'tard to do the work for us!"

Joel just sat by quietly, finishing off his cigarette as he stubbed it out on the ground. Bo and CC kept themselves close to the base of the tree, trying their best to keep warm with their limited clothing.

"You saw the body just like I did," Joel responded, referring to the charred and mutilated corpse they had found floating in the stream.

"You know I did," Mike said, grimacing at the thought, "I blew chunks all over the place."

"And you saw the burned ground over there by the building like I did," Joel responded, getting Mike to nod once more.

"Well," Joel continued, "seeing as how we all heard the same announcement it stands to reason that the corpse we saw belonged to Gervase, and by the burned ground this seems to be the place that he was lit on fire. Now, if we go in there guns blazing, it stands to reason that we might also be set on fire by the SOB's up there too, don't it?"

"Maybe," Big V responded, still a bit unsure, "but Shane?"

"Shane'll do what we say," Joel said with a slight grin, "tell him to eat broken glass and he'll do it until he pukes blood. We tell him to run into fire he'll do it no questions asked. He's good on point here, and if he don't come back, we know to go around the place. But it don't look like that's how it's gonna go."

Joel hardly even moved, but Mike and the others needed to turn their heads to see Shane come bounding on over with a wide smile on his face from the brigs' front doors. He ran on over happily, not even minding that he fell down and slid into the base of the tree that Joel, Mike, Bo and CC had gathered around.

"Hey guys!" Shane practically yelled with his enthusiastic grin, while Mike and Joel could only angrily shush him as he sat.

"Be quiet or else they'll hurt us," Joel said calmly, "you don't want them to hurt us, right?"

"No, no, no," Shane replied, "I don't want them hurtin none of us."

"Good, and none of us want to be hurt," Joel responded slowly in an effort to make Shane understand, "Now, while you were inside, did you get a good look around?"

"Yeah, I did!" Shane responded enthusiastically.

"What did you see?" Joel asked.

Taking a moment to go into his thoughts, Shane closed his eyes tightly and started to speak.

"I just got into a small room through that door with a couple chairs on the floor and a desk and things, but I couldn't get to the other side of the room because there were bars in the middle of the room like at the zoo."

"Was there anything behind the bars?" Mike quickly interjected, getting Joel to wave his hand dismissively.

"I could see cages on the right, and stairs on the left! But all the stairs were broken. I could hear the people up the stairs though, I know I could hear them!"

"The people were up the broken stairs?" Joel asked with a smile.

"Yes, people were upstairs, I know that!" Shane said with a proud smile.

"Thanks Shane, you were a big help, now I'm going to talk to the others now, all right? Can you sit off to the side for just a second?"

"Sure thing Joel!" Shane responded, stepping away from the tree and sitting down more under its cover. As he did that, Joel pulled Bo and Big V off to another side of the tree, even out of CC's earshot. While normally she'd try to get in with the group, she knew enough just to avoid what was going on here.

"Whoever's up there's smart," Joel said, "locked the gate in there and tore out the staircase leading upstairs, keep themselves locked up real nice."

"They're dug in like a bloody tick," Bo responded, wiping his chin and looking up to the building with not a lot of hope. He wanted to avoid the real danger if he could at all, but following Joel didn't make that any more pleasant a proposition.

"Well, not too good," Joel said, "gates in there got doors and I think we can break that down easy, just have to keep it quiet if we can."

"Breaking down a metal gate isn't exactly quiet man," Mike said, his eyes a bit worried, "they're gonna hear us."

"Which is why we get Shane to do it," Joel responded with a slight smile, "they firebomb us, they get him, not us. But, if they don't see us, we make it to the stairs they tore up, lift Shane up there, get him to lift us up so we can divide and conquer. How's that sound?"

A pause went between the three men as they stood looking off at the remains of the brig.

"That sounds pretty fucked to me," Bo said.

"Me too," Mike responded, "but I don't have anything better to do. Let's go."

As Joel holstered up his shotgun, Bo and Mike pulled out their respective pistols. Joel waved for Shane and CC to join them, and like that the five, soon to be four, members of the wrestling party took on the task of extracting Jackson and Eliza from their hideaway.

* * *

"Phoebe Cates was in Fast Times at Ridgemont High with Judge Reinhold, who was in Beverly Hills Cop with Paul Reiser, who was in Aliens with Bill Paxton, who was in Apollo 13 with none other than Kevin Bacon. I rule!" Jackson Brent, a.k.a. Boy # 7, said, performing the time tested "raising the roof" maneuver to salute his victory.

"Like that was ever in doubt?" Eliza Mann, a.k.a. Girl # 19, asked with her warmest of smirks.

"What was in doubt? That I rule or that Kevin Bacon was in Apollo 13?"

"Well, since it's beyond a doubt that you rule," Eliza continued, "I'd have to say that it's in doubt that Kevin Bacon has found himself a film career after the late 80's to early 90's."

"You're damn right," Jackson responded, taking another puff off his joint.

"How much more of that do you have?" Eliza asked, more than a bit concerned at the amount of marijuana her boyfriend had been smoking.

"Enough to last out the rest of this thing cruising high as a kite," Jackson said smoothly, running a hand through the greasy hair that stuck out from under his knit cap, "Why, you want some?"

"No," Eliza said as she forced a smile, "I'm fine, I'm getting a pretty good contact high as it is around here."

She shivered slightly, putting more wood into the oven and cozying up near the flame with a blanket around her shoulders.

"It's just..." she trailed off. She wanted to say it, it had made her nervous since the game had started. Yes, she liked to get stoned every so often, but Jackson had been consistently ripped for almost the entire game thus far, and it definitely was not healthy.

"Just what?" Jackson said, trying to open his eyes completely and failing. He knew they were bloodshot, and right now he wasn't in the mood to have to see everything the world had to offer.

"Are you sure you're ok with being stoned now? I mean, we're going to die here," the words streamed from her mouth.

"That's all the more reason to get ripped," Jackson said smiling a wide and toothy smile, "I don't want to see what's coming up on me, I just want it all to happen like it happens."

"But don't you want a chance to survive?" she pleaded, "I mean, maybe we can go out there and find someone who is trying to escape?"

"Who?" Jackson asked, getting a bit angry, "Who can get us out of here besides in a fucking body bag?"

"Anna probably," Eliza said with a shrug, "she's good at things like this, and I know her from all the SDS meetings. She's really smart."

"SDS, shit don't mean nothing out here," Jackson responded, putting his joint down.

"It means something to me!" Eliza said as she raised her voice, "I joined them because I wanted to be a part of something, to be something bigger than I am, to get involved! What'd you ever do?"

"Nothing! Nada, nil, nothing, is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what you wanted to hear Eliza?" Jackson practically yelled, standing up from his cot. Getting defensive, Eliza backed off of her chair and onto a cot of her own.

A thundercrack exploded outside, conveniently covering up the noise as the wrestlers wrenched the metal gate from the floor below them.

"I didn't say that," Eliza responded.

"I'm not smart, but I'm not dumb either. I could stop the dope at anytime, but I don't because it's my decision. Have you ever considered that sometimes my decision might be the right one? If it was up to me, we wouldn't even be here!" Jackson said with more anger as he raised his voice, "It's not my fault that we're here!"

"And it is mine?" Eliza said, hurt.

"Yeah, if it was up to me we would've taken those tickets to Disneyland with those kids from San Delgado, and we'd have spent the night riding over-packed rides, getting high and finding dark corners to make out. Right about now we'd be back home, having some cheap pancakes at Hi-Life, and laughing about what a good time we had. Instead, you wanted to go out and see your friends for one last time, so, yeah, I'd say some of this is your fault."

Eliza sighed and sat down on the cot, burying her face in her hands as she tried not to cry. She knew she loved him, but sometimes his inability to face reality frustrated her. There were just times that he didn't see things for what they were, totally random, or see things in true perspective. When he was ripped he was irrational and paranoid, and putting him in a life or death situation didn't make it any better. She'd seen him worse off before though. Like many a major event among the alumni of Braiwood High School, it seemed to cosmically link itself to that fateful prom night...

She had these stupid fairy tale imaginings of how everything would be absolutely perfect that night. It'd be fun and non-traditional, like the dress she had partly made from duct tape to get that scholarship from the duct tape company, but a night to remember nevertheless. It'd be magical, maybe even a fairy tale of sorts if she really got lucky.

Instead, after all those dance fiascos she had to sit for over an hour in their hotel room, caring for him as he came down off a hash and shroom high, pants around his ankles, shoes on his hands, clapping, waddling, and chuckling maniacally as he sang "I clap for the shoe hands... peek-a-boo!" She had humored him until the novelty finally wore off, and he passed out on the bed without so much as a kiss goodnight.

He woke up several hours later shrieking about the things crawling under his skin, causing him to go so far as to use a razor blade to try and cut them out from his skin. Eliza had called the paramedics, and it was almost ruled a suicide... but Jackson was all right. He'd sworn off the hallucinogens and other hard shit since, just sticking to the good old Mary J.

Eliza let a tear roll down her cheek, watching as her boyfriend paced around angrily. As much as it may have been his trademark, sometimes it was too much. Sometimes it became who he was more than the wonderfully sweet person he usually could be. Sometimes it made Eliza doubt the very foundation of why she was with this man...

Looking up as he paced back into the room, she wondered for just a brief moment if she was really better off staying here after all. Maybe, maybe not. But, she still loved him.

"I didn't know..." Eliza finally muttered.

"What?" Jackson asked.

"I didn't know!" she shrieked, "How could I have known? This was done at random!"

"No, no, no," Jackson said as he walked more around the room, "things like this are never random, it can't be, we were chosen for a reason, no, no, no, this doesn't make any sense. This is a government things, and nothing no matter how they want us to think in this whole government is at random. There is a system, there has to be a system to it!"

Jackson practically jumped on his feet with little consideration of his girlfriend as she looked across the room, "There's a system to everything this government does!"

"Jackson," Eliza said hesitantly as her eyes looked to the other side of the room.

"What?" Jackson asked.

"Someone's here," she said, her eyes growing wide with fear.

Following Eliza's line of sight, Jackson could see the entrance to their destroyed stairwell. Sure enough, several fingers crept over the edge, then another full-fledged hand. As they quieted down, they could hear the sounds of bodies shifting around.

"Jackson?" Eliza pleaded softly.

Getting up as quickly as he could under the circumstances, Jackson grabbed his sledgehammer from the floor. Picking it up, he managed to swing it in a high arc, slamming down on the hand with a bone-shattering crunch.

* * *

Shane howled out in pain as every bone in his left hand was crushed. The tower of Shane, Bo and Big V collapsed to the floor in a pile of flesh. Shane just moaned loudly, cradling his hand as he rolled into the fetal position on the ground.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!" he wailed, crying as he could feel his hand swell. Getting up quickly, Bo, Mike and Joel held out their guns and started firing up the ruined stairwell as Jackson dodged to the side. Without a great grip on the tool, he lost his sledgehammer and let it fall to the floor beside Shane.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWW!" Shane wailed again as Joel, Mike and Bo continued firing shots into the wall upstairs.

"Where'd he go?" Mike hollered.

"I dunno!" Bo yelled back, trying to listen as Joel continued emptying the remaining shells from his shotgun. In the moment of silence that followed after they stopped shooting, they could hear pounding around in the floorboards above them. Trying to fake calmness yet being anything but, Joel loaded two rounds into his shotgun, looking up every so often to catch a glimpse at their attacker. Looking down, he loaded another round, and then up again to catch a quick glimpse of a flame.

"Shit! Duck!" Joel quickly yelled, jumping to the side. Acting on instinct, Bo followed his leader while Mike just took a second to look back upstairs. The first Molotov cocktail exploded four feet from Mike, burning his jeans and igniting his letterman jacket. He screamed in pain, tearing the jacket off and tossing it to the side, then rolling on the ground out of the way as Joel, Bo and CC did their best to beat out the flames.

The second Molotov cocktail fell short of its targets, or more precisely straight to the ground. This could be attributed to Jackson's lack of accuracy because of the drugs in his system, or maybe the fact that he'd burned his hand on the flaming wick and just dropped it. No matter, he didn't have much longer to worry about it.

As the bottle shattered on the concrete ground below, it engulfed the prone Shane into a ball of fire, causing his earlier wail to turn into an inhuman scream as he leapt to his feet and ran around the room. Bouncing off one wall, he turned the slight hall that had protected his friends and looked to them with what little eyesight he had left. Like the obedient puppy he had been in their eyes, he looked for their help, their compassion. Instead he got a blast of buckshot to the face from Joel, taking him down and out of the Battle Royale.

Acting quickly, Joel opened up the folding stock of the Spas-12 shotgun, bracing it against his shoulder as he did a quick roll on the ground. He caught a quick view of Jackson standing upstairs, holding a bottle and desperately trying to light it with his trademark Zippo lighter, he made an easy target.

Pumping the shotgun, Joel fired once, striking Jackson in the belly. Pumping it again, Joel fired the last round in the weapon, peppering Jackson in the chest with bits of lead. Braiwood's class stoner was taken off of his feet by the sheer force of the last blast, throwing him to the floor very dead before his girlfriends' eyes.

* * *

"Jackson!" Eliza shrieked as she watched the man she loved collapse to the ground in a bloody heap. No, it wasn't possible, it just couldn't be!

She crawled over, noting some gunshots from below striking the ceiling and wall behind her, but she was in a different world. All she knew was Jackson. She didn't know the shot that grazed the back of her neck in a spray of blood, but she knew her boyfriend's face. His eyes were closed, his face in an odd state of peace. It was odd, she had somehow expected that he would be grimacing, or in pain, but no. His face was at rest, his eyes closed.

He wasn't dead. Really, in our world of course he's dead, but... Eliza subscribed to an interesting mixture of religions, taking a belief here, a deity there, some from the east, some from the west. The light, the dark, she took the beliefs she felt most reflected her sensibilities and went with them. In all honesty, that's what helped her most as she cradled his head. Jackson wasn't dead, he'd just gone to another plane of existence, the other side, heaven, whatever you choose to call it. He'd gone to the better place where those who led good lives went, and although he wasn't exactly what anyone would call one of the most virtuous people in the world, he had enough heart and soul deep down inside him to at least get him a spot at the front of the line at the pearly gates.

He's waiting for you...

Another shot rang out from downstairs, striking her in the shoulder and shocking her back to reality. It whirled her from her crouching position, knocking her to the floor and into the legs of a table.

As she impacted, one of the numerous Molotov cocktails fell to the floor and shattered in a spray of gasoline. She looked to the spreading puddle, smelling the rich smell of fuel and knew what she must do.

She stood up, pulling herself to her feet by grabbing onto one of the table's legs. She grabbed the Molotov cocktails from the table one at a time, throwing them around the top floor of the brig. She threw them against the wall, on the cot, in the closet, breaking them on the floor at her feet. With the last bottle in hand, she pulled the cloth out and poured it over her head, burning her eyes and skin, though not enough to make her really care.

Dropping the bottle, she got back on her knees, crawling over to Jackson's remains. Still clutched in his hand was his Zippo lighter, J&E engraved into the side. She smiled wistfully with a tear in her eye, bending down to place one last kiss on his lips.

"I love you Jackson," Eliza said more tearfully, "I always have, I always will."

_Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while._ Taking in a breath, she pulled the Zippo from his fingers and opened the top.

* * *

The four members of the wrestling gang ducked to the ground as the floor above them burst into a massive ball of fire. Flames danced on the boards above them, as more were busted out and thrown their way. While the top of Joel's hair was singed off, he didn't notice as he simply made a sprint for the doors.

"Get your asses outta here guys, this place is going down!" he shouted as he ran with his head low and Bo, CC and Mike shortly behind.

Running out into the driving range, they watched as flames gutted the roof and windows on the buildings upper floor, breaking glass and collapsing much of the wooden roof as the fire stretched into the sky.

"Fucking fuck!" Mike shrieked as he nursed the burns on his arms and legs in the rain, "This is fucked up man!"

"Jesus Christ, did you see what happened to Shane?" CC shrieked.

"Hey, hey, HEY!" Joel yelled, pointing his shotgun into the sky, then aiming it back at the ground as he remembered the rain pouring around them, "We lost our man, but we killed at least two people in there. Shane died instead of us, he served his purpose, now we gotta serve ours. We still have to get to the airfield and get the guns!"

"Joel man, I'm hurting real good here!" Mike yelled over the pounding rain, looking at his skin as it started to peel away, "I got burned real bad man."

"Can you walk?" Joel asked as he shook the water from his hair.

"What?" Mike asked, tending the blisters on his arm.

"CAN YOU WALK?" Joel asked, his eyes bugging out slightly and frightening the others.

"Yes, but what the-"

"Then we're going to the airfield!" Joel yelled, "If you can't make it to the airfield I'll shoot you right now and make it easier for all of us. So, are you hurting?"

For a moment, Mike just considered whipping out the Beretta he had tucked back into his belt and blasting Joel repeatedly with it, but the shotgun barrel aimed squarely at his chest was something of a good deterrent.

"Actually, I think I'm feeling a lot better now!" Mike yelled, "Let's go to the airfield!"

"Good," Joel said as he lowered his shotgun. He pointed subtly with the barrel, but the message was clear enough. Mike V. started walking, desperately tearing at his shirt to make some bandages for his arms. CC was soon to follow, afraid of her boyfriend while knowing enough of what bad would come from not doing as he was told.

Bo was the last to follow, and was a bit more hesitant than the rest. He had no problem going along with Joel and the rest of his wrestling hooligans, but even he knew enough to know that something wasn't right here. Joel was a strong guy, a competitor to no end, but Bo was more than capable of knowing evil when he saw it. Staring into Joel's eyes before turning away to follow Mike and CC, he knew he saw it. That glimmer in the back of his eyes, that slight curve to his grimace that almost formed a smile. Joel was evil in the flesh, and Bo didn't want anything to do with it.

He'd have to be careful though, Joel had the big gun. _Just shoot, or run, or both, just get the fuck out of here._

"Come on Bo, we need to keep frosty," Joel said quickly, putting his arm around Bo's shoulders in a friendly manner and lowering his voice, "Mike's hurtin and might need to be put down soon, you're going to be my eyes and ears and muscle. You and me can finish this all off."

He'd heard that tone many times before. It was Joel being charismatic and cocky at the same time, playing the schemer and the king of the world at the same time. He couldn't let it happen, no, you can fool most folk but you can't fool the Brits, "That's not bad," Bo said, "not bad at all..."


	38. Hour 33: 23 Contestants Remaining

Hour 33

23 Contestants Remaining

At 9:11 AM, a familiar sound echoed from the slightly open door of the mess hall's walk in freezer.

"I AM INVINCIBLE!"

Michael Baxter, a.k.a. Boy # 20, and Gus O'Ryan, a.k.a. Boy # 21 looked up briefly from the card game they were playing, but gave the holler no real heed. They'd heard it before, and it was truly nothing new. Girl # 7 Anna Rourke didn't even look up from Jenny Reese, a.k.a. Girl # 11's, hair as she braided it into two short pigtails. What did however grab their attention was the image of Doug Rodgers, a.k.a. Boy # 2 squeezing his small frame between the door and the frame of the walk in freezer with a wild look behind his glasses and his mouth moving at a mile a minute.

"I'm in it guys, Christ almighty I am in it and I got us on, we're hooked up, we're hooked up!"

With her eyes definitely brightening, Anna dropped Jenny's half finished braids and got to her feet.

"Network?" Anna mouthed.

"I'm the man," Doug responded with a wide smile, waving the remaining four on over to the freezer. Anna practically dashed over with Jenny shortly behind, while Michael and Gus simply remained in their seats playing cards.

"Aren't you guys coming?" Jenny asked.

"Why? Can't you see we're busy?" Gus responded as he did a quick shuffle, noting the pain from the mild burn in his hand. Nevertheless, he had to laugh at his own wit, limited as it may be considered. Jenny looked to Michael as a voice of reason, but he simply shrugged and waited for the cards to be dealt his way. Jenny disappeared into the meat locker with a look of disgust on her face, while Gus simply chuckled.

"When the shit hits the fan," Gus commented, "some guys run and some guys stay. I'd rather be the guy waitin to see what everyone else does first."

"I hear that," Michael responded, "I mean, it's not that I don't want to help the group, it's just I can't go by this hero bullshit. If we all just stuck together, we wouldn't be putting ourselves in danger and no one would die, we'd just get out together as soon as we could figure out how to take off these belts and we'd be gone, end of story."

"Well," Gus responded as he adjusted his mask slightly, "I dunno if I can abide by that entirely, sometimes you need to put yourself in the harms way to get to a place to get out. I'd love to be out there in the field with the rest of the troops now, but hey, can't go out there with a face fucked up by some rich girl with a spray can full of acid, so you're stayin back here. If they don't want me doin anything I'd be happy to oblige them, but it's their loss, not mine."

"But you'd really do it?" Michael asked.

"Shit yeah," Gus responded, "I can't stand just sitting here waiting for it to get too late and to have the game come to us. I wanna go to the game and just get over all this worrying about it crap, I mean we could form this escape thing easier if we go out and kill the dangerous people first, but no, we've gotta sit back here with our thumbs up our butts waiting for the dangerous people to come to us and kill us off, and I really don't know if I can live like that."

"So you want to kill so we won't be killed?" Michael asked.

"Yes I do," Gus said, "it's the best way we can stay safe out here."

"But we're teaming up so we won't kill people," Michael corrected, "I mean, we're not doing this revolutionary-hippie stuff so we can go around slaughtering people, we're doing it so people can live!"

Gus sighed, laying down his cards as he stretched his hands overhead, "Even if we win, we get out of here, we're still killing people."

"I don't follow," Michael responded.

"Well, here's how I see it," Gus responded, showing more thinking than Michael had ever expected from the school's token redneck, "there was, what, seven guys there?"

"I think, yeah."

"Well, to pull off this thing we want that's seven bodies right there, and these are guys just doing their jobs. They woke up today, yesterday, every other day serving their country like any other good patriot, they had their coffee and they reported to work like anyone else would. Sure, their job is making sure we kill each other, but I'd lay odds on that they're just guys maybe our age who don't want to die themselves, so they joined up instead of getting in the way."

Michael sat back a bit enthralled as Gus kept going with a passion he'd not exhibited before (in school at least, Gus was perfectly content to play the dumb redneck part to a T, out here with that mask on his face he seemed to be something of a philosopher).

"Then there's everyone else."

"Who else?" Michael asked.

"Everyone we don't save, now that we just got the 'leven of us, but there's twenty-somethin of us out here. Now, I may be no math wiz but that is a bit of a difference."

"Well, there's some bad ones out there we can't trust to come with us, but we can try to save some of the other good people, maybe Jackson, Eliza, Rudy, Matt..."

"Try?" Gus practically laughed, "how are we gonna find 'em, just start yellin out their names? If we're doing the best to not die, how's that gonna help? It ain't. And the bad ones? Where's this humanity you were talking about with trying to not let people die? If we leave them here, we're as guilty of murder as the folk who kill them."

Gus shuffled the cards again real quick while Michael remained rather silent, a bit confused over the conversation that they had just had (did they really have it? Is Gus really that bright?), and deep in thought.

"So what's your game," Gus said as he changed the subject with a wide yet hidden grin, "Draw, Stud, or Hold 'Em?"

Michael shook his head slightly, blowing a tuft of bright pink hair from in front of his eye.

"How's Go Fish sound?" Michael asked with his goofy grin.

Gus smiled back and playfully punched Michael in the shoulder, "It sounds like I've found a new game to kick your ass at."

* * *

The walk in freezer, as well as being the one true hideaway on the island from their personal microphones, had since become a crazed workhouse of Doug's designs. He'd scrawled out dozens of notes on the floor and walls with one of their spare markers, diagramming the various inner workings of the computers as well as hundreds of seemingly indecipherable lines of code. Well, indecipherable to everyone except Doug at least. Still, his proudest achievement was the aerial he had rigged from old pieces of wire and an autopsied cellular phone, one of their rather limited supply. 

Looking through their student profiles, Doug pulled up Jenny's profile, looking to the bland picture that they had shot while in the bunker before the game started.

"You know that picture doesn't really do you any justice?" Doug asked Jenny, getting her to giggle and playfully press onto his shoulder.

"So you're sure they can't find us?" Anna asked, changing as she looked over Doug's shoulder. Doug quickly pulled up the real time motion sensor guide of the island, basically equating to a map showing the location of every active belt on the island (living and dead, minus the belts of Homer, Brian and Tammy which had been detonated).

"Please, you must give me more credit," Doug said with his sly smile, "even if they knew someone from the outside was hacking in on their system, which they don't since this is their own computer, I'm better than that. I can route them around around the planet ten times over before they even realize there's a problem, and if they try to sever the connection? I'm gonna put a virus on their system in about five minutes, if they try to shut us down they're seriously going to be regretting it."

"Nice," Anna commented, getting even Jenny to smile.

"Yeah, just need to get into my home computer, I've got some stuff on my hard drive that'll screw them up real good," Doug said as he cracked his fingers, then typing in a succession of letters and numbers. The given belts onscreen suddenly split between green and red with their letter/number designations clear as day.

"We're down to twenty-three," Doug commented as he wiped his brow with the orange SABRE bandana, "seems there was a fight between Joel and his buddies and Jackson and Eliza. J and E are both dead, but it looks like they took down Shane in the process."

"Damn it," Anna responded as she exhaled, "those were some good people."

Jenny was taken aback for a moment at the news. She'd worked for a while as an aid in the school's special ed program and had gotten to know Shane better than pretty much anyone at school would have chosen to. When the people in the athletics department got a hold of the kid, it was pure exploitation of his brute strength, especially around Joel. But, that was Shane's lot in life. He never really knew better, and was always eager to please. So, while Jenny was not really surprised to hear that he was dead, it wasn't exactly something she'd looked forward to seeing.

"But what about the belts?" Anna asked, "Can you disarm them from here?"

"Yeah, of course," Doug said, "I'm going to try to get in and find whatever I can, but I'm pretty sure we can get it from here easily."

"If we can't?" Anna asked.

"Then we're fucked," Doug said earnestly, "but we're not going to have that happen, are we? I'm good, I'm the best and I am invincible, I'm not going to let any of us die. You just trust me, while you make sure everything works outside this room."

"That I can do," Anna said with a smile, "that I can do. How's our team in the field?"

Looking to the monitor, Doug pointed to the screen on the west side of the island.

"They're still sticking to the hills in the west," Doug responded, "they're not alone either. The Demon's sitting by the coast for one reason or another, Matt's approaching him, and Joel and his crew seem to be flocking together a little close to our people for comfort."

"That's bad," Jenny commented.

"Yeah, and I'm thinking it's a lot worse," Doug said as he pointed to the airfield, "Marie's camped out at the airfield, not real far from the drop site, and not too far from that is the body of Jacob. She's picking people off by the looks of it."

"They're walking into a death trap!" Anna exclaimed as she put everything together, "Jenny, get on the phone and call them back, tell them to get their asses back here!"

"The batteries almost dead," Jenny said as she pulled their last good phone from her pocket.

"I don't care, get whatever you can out of it but get them back here!" Anna practically yelled, causing Jenny to run from the room, frantically dialing numbers into her cell phone as she disappeared from sight.

Anna sighed, sitting down on one of the cots they'd dragged into the old freezer. Rubbing her eyes, she asked, "Are you good to keep going in here."

"Yeah," Doug responded, "I've got a lot of stuff to do, so no worries about me getting bored. How are you holding up?"

Not opening her eyes, Anna let out a half smile, "I've got a headache and I need a smoke."

"Kind of cancel each other out, don't they?" Doug mentioned ironically.

"Yeah," Anna replied, "yeah they do. But I need my nicotine and I need it now."

She stood up and made her way for the freezer's large door, "Find a way to get these belts off of us and find it fast. We need to get out of here yesterday."

"Ten steps ahead of ya," Doug responded, "for I am invincible!"

Anna smiled genuinely as she looked at the nerd at work. That was the kind of talk she liked to hear, not the pessimistic drivel that would drive everyone else to death, but the hope that would lead to their eventual revolution. Pulling a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, she flipped out a smoke as she slipped between the door and the wall.

Sighing heavily and taking down his false front, Doug focused back on the computer. He hated pretending to be happy, but around egos like Anna's, sometimes it just made things a whole lot easier. Carter, well, Carter he could be real around, but with Anna being so hell bent on everything going off without a hitch... speaking ones mind seemed almost like lighting a very dangerous fuse.

Looking back to the map, he watched as B15 approached B17 in a smooth and steady manner. It looked like Damien and Matt were about to fight, and Doug tried to lay odds on how long it would take before Matt's name turned out red.

He guessed somewhere around two, maybe three minutes.

* * *

He could see him, sitting on the rock. It had taken him a while to find him, since wandering an island blindly wasn't the most efficient way to go about things, but in the end it worked out. There he was, sitting on the rock with the rain pouring all around him completely unaware. He held a smooth round stone in one hand, carefully running it up along the blade of the sword that he held in hand. For a moment Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15, tried to figure out who he'd gotten the blade from. After a second, he didn't care. 

Passing through the trees, he could hear the ocean crashing below over the rain. Damien had chosen this spot by the cliffs to the west to sharpen his sword, get a view and get your blade, it made perfect sense.

Matt stood maybe ten feet behind Damien, looking at the tuft of hair that stuck out from behind the edge of his fencing mask. He held the sword with his feet, running the rock across his samurai's blade. It was very high quality by the looks of things, but Matt was unconcerned with the matter. He'd put a bullet in the back of Damien's head, and then maybe another if that didn't do it.

Pulling out the Walther PPK that Eliza had given him, Matt walked even closer to The Demon, the monster who had brutally dismembered Dora. He lifted the gun, aiming it at the base of Damien's neck. One to the neck, one to the head, that'll make sure that he is dead.

Matt stood, thinking more than he knew he should have as he looked to The Demon. Was what he was doing really right? _I mean, combat on an open field is one thing, but this... this is murder. This isn't even self-defense, this is cold-blooded homicide. Sneaking up on a person and putting two rounds into the back of their head, that's not right on some level, that's almost as bad as what he did to Dor-_

With blinding speed, Damien spun around on his rock, slashing out with the samurai sword and putting Matt in a world of blinding pain. He watched as blood flowed from the foot long gash that crossed his chest.

He fell to the ground, looking up as his vision hazed over and Damien got to his feet. He held the samurai sword up high, raising it above his head for what would most certainly be a kill blow.

"Nice sneaking," Damien said with what Matt guessed to be a smile from behind his fencing mask, "but you need to hesitate less."

Taking a cue from Damien, and maybe a bit from the fear and adrenaline that was pumped into his system, Matt raised his pistol and fired. The shot nicked the right side of Damien's neck with a spray of blood, and The Demon faltered in his step. Having something of a sixth sense towards the game as it was, this one totally caught Damien off guard and gave him his most lucid thought of the day thus far.

"Oh fuck," he muttered painfully.

Twice more Matt shot him, knocking Damien to the ground in a prone state. Crawling away, Damien spit some blood into the fencing mask, yeah, it was definitely a broken rib. He deftly sheathed his sword and tried to crawl away, but Matt shot him twice more in the back, rolling him more towards the sloping edge of the cliff.

Matt walked over and kicked The Demon in his ribs, getting the monster to howl as he rolled over onto his belly. He shot Damien twice more, one shot right to the belly and another ricocheting off the side of his mask as it gouged a line in the metal cover. Kicking Damien once more, Matt rolled him another foot, leaning right towards the edge of a sloping section of hill.

Damien rolled faster and faster, watching the world spin around him as he tumbled end over end for twenty feet, and then nothing. Time slowed as he watched the water below him rush to his face, only returning to normal when the icy cling of the ocean hit him like a freight train and stole his consciousness.

* * *

In astounding pain from the slash across his chest, Matt tore at a sleeve from his jacket, folded it in half and pressed it hard against the wound. His blood soaked into it, but the pressure did seem to stop the flow for the moment. 

Still, despite the wound, he had to know. He had to see the body, he had to know that The Demon was dead. Gingerly placing his body flat against the slight hill that led to the cliff's drop off, Matt inched his way towards the edge. Getting a good enough view, he could see it clear as day, even with the rain coming down around him. The body of The Demon floated in the water face up, the water rushing around him as blood stained the water around him red from the neck wound.

Wincing slightly, Matt climbed back up to where they had fought. He let his hand free from his chest, taking the tattered sleeve with it and letting the blood ooze out once more. Cursing again, he stumbled on over to his supplies. _Something, anything would be good, just need to stop the bleeding, put pressure on it..._

He saw something that would definitely work, but it broke his heart to use it...

* * *

After a rough ten minute operation figuring out how to make it work and work comfortably, Matt fastened the two hook ends of the bungee cord around his chest. He tied it tight, more than enough to put pressure on the injury, and hopefully enough to stop the bleeding. But, with his already hefty arsenal and backpack, and the bungee no longer any good to carry it, Matt abandoned his skateboard at the base of the tree. He noted it on the map, but felt horrible. The board had been his life for the longest time, his defining characteristic, and on more than one occasion a definite lifesaver. It was the good luck charm that had helped him through many a bad time before, and he'd hoped that it would help him find Lexie, but now it was all guesswork and relying on faith. 

Now more than ever Matt felt he needed to find Lexie, since the feeling that he may not be around much longer seemed to be more apparent as the hours passed. _God I hope she's still alive…_


	39. Hour 34: 23 Contestants Remaining

Hour 34

23 Contestants Remaining

The structure was mostly burned to the ground, though the rain seemed to have put out any remaining flames. Now it was a gutted skeleton of a building, consisting of concrete walls and wooden floors that had been broken out and twisted every which way. Francisco Marquez, a.k.a. Boy # 22, Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5, and Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, sorted through the mess with their faces covered in handkerchiefs and bandannas. The smell of smoke and death was heavy in the air, with the cold humidity of the drenching rain not making the situation any better. They sifted through the remains on the ground floor with their weapons, looking to find any sign of who may or may not have fallen in the battle that looked to take place here.

They would have checked upstairs if that were a feasible course of action, but unfortunate as it may be the fire had destroyed much of the second level including much of its wooden floor. The best they could manage was pushing their way through the metal bars and wooden detritus from the explosion.

"This sucks," Ashley said as she coughed heavily into her bandana.

"Well, at least we're getting out of the mess hall," Francisco said with a wide smile from behind his own personal bandana. He'd tried to keep the spirits up among the expeditionary crew, and honestly his general good will had been all that kept them going.

"Yeah, but this really sucks," Ashley said as more water dripped down from the ceiling on her, "I wasn't made for this stuff, I was made for hot and dry, I was made for the desert. Rain, snow, sleet, that just sucks."

"I'd say it could be worse," Carter said as he sifted some more rubble over the remains of Shane, "but I doubt it. This is pretty much as bad as it gets."

"Yeah," Ashley said pointing to Carter, "See? Even he believes me, Frankie."

Rolling his eyes slightly as he pushed more charred and soaked wood from the ground with Peter's police baton, Francisco did his best to change the subject back to their previous conversation, "So, Carter."

"So, Francisco?" Carter responded, moving away from the charred corpse of their previous classmate and further into the rest of the wreckage.

"Why haven't you told this girl how you've felt yet? You're still a little hazy on that one," Francisco asked rather bluntly.

"Dammit we're still on that?" Carter asked, shaking his head. "Why does my love life or lack thereof have to be of everyone else's interest? I feel like a frickin guinea pig here."

"Well," Francisco responded, "Look at it this way. We've got about two things we can talk about right now, love or death, and you don't seem too pleased by the body right next to ya so I'm thinking death is a bit out of the picture."

Carter sighed, rocking his neck back and forth to take out some of the ache from Homer's earlier beating to continue on with the story that Francisco and Ashley had been grilling him over ever since they entered the remains of the brig. Being a reasonably private person, it was a subject that Carter hadn't really had the need to articulate before, but given the fact that Francisco and Ashley were both good friends, he couldn't see the real harm in going into some detail.

"Crushes aren't supposed to last for ten years, are they?" Carter asked.

"I think they call it love then," Francisco said with a toothy grin, playfully punching Carter in the shoulder.

"I think they call that a stalker," Ashley said as she pushed by the other guys, "Carter's been thinking about one girl all his life and won't even get laid when he gets the chance, shit, even when it falls into his lap. How's that for bein' a guy?"

"I'd say it's romantic," Francisco said with a smile, "But seein' as how I'm a hopeless one of those myself, I might be thinking different."

Francisco did a quick double take, raising his eyebrow at one of Ashley's last remarks, "So you're still a-"

"Yeah," Carter interjected, "Yeah I am. I don't see why that's any of your business though."

"Hey, just askin' so I can get the scale of this thing here," Francisco said defensively.

"He could've lost it easy," Ashley replied as she poked through some sodden and burnt wood with her tire iron, "he just pussied out."

"Hey," Carter said, poking Ashley in the back with his baseball bat, "that was a long time ago."

"No it wasn't," Ashley laughed, "it was prom. I could've helped you easy."

"Yeah," Carter retorted, "Help me get arrested."

"Come again?" Francisco asked with a smile.

"Long story," Carter responded as he rubbed his eyes with a free hand, "but I'll give you a shorter one if it'll shut you guys up though..."

* * *

Long before he had been Katherine's personal savior at the prom, he was just a guy sitting in a chair watching everyone else, well, do what everyone else typically does at prom. They danced, they partied, and they could've cared less about good old Carter James, the nice guy who didn't fit into the big scheme of things. He'd arrived with Blake, but he went off early with his date and left Carter in all his Hawaiian shirt glory to sit back by a table adjacent to the dance floor with his complimentary watered down soda. He could have braved things out and just jumped out on the dance floor, make a fool of himself perhaps and gain some attention and a few friends like Josh seemed to be doing, but it just wasn't Carter's style. 

And of course, with a view of the dance floor he could see her. She danced with friends in a group, laughing and smiling that radiant smile she had. She was beautiful in her pink dress, looking as perfect as by all rights she should have. For a moment Carter even thought she might have looked over his way, causing him to smile a bit. She continued her gaze, not looking to him once and thoroughly crushing Carter. What else had you expected? Her to come over and say hey, her coming over and asking for a dance, her coming over and asking him for a k-

A dull thudding sound on the chair next to him caught Carter's attention, and the sight was more than enough to catch his attention. She had one foot on the chair and the other on the ground, looking to Carter with a slight and rather blunt smile.

He looked his way up, knee high black leather boots attached to slightly browned, very fit legs, with a rather tight and short black dress with one sleeve extending to her right palm above it. Her other arm (and most of her chest for that matter) was bare, with a smattering of studded leather bracelets wrapped tightly around her wrist. It was obvious to Carter that she wore no bra, and for the first time in, well, ever, she had visible cleavage. The spiked necklace, cocky smile and intelligent eyes were a dead giveaway though, try as she might to look like a girl.

"Still dreaming the impossible dream Carter?" Ashley asked.

"As always," Carter replied rather wistfully, waving his hand through the air. He listened as the music changed to Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over", and watched as everyone got into the slow dancing.

"Come on, dance with me," Ashley said as she extended a hand.

Carter sighed, looking to Katherine on the dance floor as she was suddenly alone, "I'd rather not."

"I wasn't asking," Ashley said with a giggle, "I'm telling you, dance with me."

Meeting her eyes and smiling, Carter put his hand in hers and stood up. She dragged him out to the middle of the dance floor as the song's vocals began, putting his one hand on her waist while holding his other firmly in the air.

"You get a better view of the floor from here anyway," Ashley responded with her usual smile. "Can you see her?"

Getting a look over her shoulder, Carter could see Katherine walking away to get a drink. Ever since she'd broken up with Jeremy, slow dances just didn't seem to be her thing (not that Carter had known; prom was the first and last dance he'd ever attend).

"Much," Carter said appreciatively, "Thanks Ash. You're always looking out for me, aren't ya?"

"I do my best," Ashley responded, getting into the song for a moment. "I still have yet to get you laid though."

"One of these days," Carter said, "One of these days... Just looking for the right person first."

"Yeah," Ashley responded with some irritation, "You know your right person though. She's also the right person for about half the senior class."

"Yeah," Carter sighed, "but I-"

"I know, I know," Ashley replied, "You've known her almost as long as I've known you. You've known since the moment you met her that she was the one for you and she was all that was worth living for, right?"

Carter almost laughed, "Yeah, I've said that a few times before, haven't I."

"Yeah," Ashley giggled, "You have."

Carter sighed as they danced for a while longer, and taking it on herself once more, Ashley brought the conversation back. "Still, if the right person falls through, I can still get you laid. Believe it or not, there's some girls out there that do find you cute."

He did a double take as Ashley quickly twirled herself on the floor and back into his arms.

"What would I do without Ashley Vasquez?" Carter asked with a friendly smile.

"Die I guess," Ashley deadpanned, "I dunno."

She paused, enjoying the song thoroughly. Sure, it was old and it was a cheesy breakup song, but it was very gentle and pleasant, partly how she'd been hoping the evening would be.

"So what are you doing after prom?" Ashley asked.

"Sleep," Carter said, "Go home, sleep, and wake up tomorrow so I can work in the morning. How about you?"

"There's a party over at Gus'," Ashley said, looking to the floor. "You should come over, Gus got a keg and some good stuff. Megan's gonna be there too, she was asking if you'd be coming."

Carter's smile faded as he thought of Megan Ramires, one of the prettier outcasts of the school and a star from the softball team. They'd had a couple classes together and she always seemed like a nice girl, very beautiful too with impossibly pale yet soft skin, jet black hair and beautiful green eyes...

"I'll pass, thanks, but knowing you, you've already got a good stash on you," Carter said, smiling conspiratorially.

"Who, me?" Ashley said in a mock innocent voice as she looked down. Using a free hand, she hiked her skirt up a few inches, showing Carter a couple small glass bottles that she had strapped to her inner thigh.

"I'd show you the rest of my stash," Ashley replied, "but that's $9.95 from my website. Come on, let's finish this dance."

She pulled in close with a happy sigh, leaning her head against Carter's shoulder. Carter smiled, just glad to have had a friend like Ashley_. Everyone should be so lucky..._

* * *

"You dumb shit!" Ashley yelled as she kicked through some more charred wood in frustration, "We ain't finding any else over here guys, this place is a burnt tomb." 

"Yeah," Carter said as he lifted his bat and propped it on his shoulder, "There's nothing left in here, whoever died in here isn't going anywhere anytime soon, and if they left anything, I don't think it's of any use to us anymore."

"We're getting out of here?" Francisco asked with some relief in his voice.

"Yeah, we're getting out of here," Carter said as he made his way towards the front door. Ashley was quicker on her feet, already making a beeline for the exit and running out into the rain to find the rest of their group. Francisco pulled his bandanna over his forehead to keep the rain drenched hair out of his eyes.

"You love the girl?" Francisco asked honestly.

"Yeah, I think I do," Carter replied with a smile.

"Well, I may not be the master of love but I know this. Don't think about something this serious and this big in life, know it and embrace it. We're all on death row here as it is and the clock is ticking, it might be best for you to tell Kat out there that you like her as soon as you get the chance. Otherwise it might be too late and you'll find yourself stuck on the other side with some big regrets, you know what I mean?" Francisco asked again.

"I'm with you," Carter said with a genuine smile, "thanks man."

"No problem," Frank replied as he prepared to run out into the rain, "just don't tell Ashley when you do get around to it. My advice for the day."

With that, Francisco ran outside leaving Carter to ponder the cryptic message. _Don't tell Ashley? What did she have to do with anything?_

* * *

The hike towards the airfield was as uneventful as it was dreary. The six members of the SABRE expeditionary team stuck to their plan, cutting a zig-zagging path through the hills as they made their way to the airfield. The environment was oppressive at best, their ears filled with the constant drumming of the rain while their clothes were soaked through by the large drops. In the places where tree cover was lightest, the rain would sting at their skin, while in areas with thick growth would collect the heaviest drops and pelt them from above. 

Things stayed quiet for the most part as they wound their way through the jungle, if more for the fact that no one felt like talking than for their own safety.

However, being the point man and always trying to be one to lift the spirits of whatever group he happened to be in, Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12 spoke up.

"You guys want to hear a funny story?" he asked.

Not hearing any objections among the group of sour-faced youths and after getting a nod from Ashley, he continued.

"Remember that time that time Danny Tran got hurt and they had to bring in an ambulance to take him out of school?"

"Yeah," Lexie replied, "it was pretty bad, wasn't it?"

"Well," Paul replied, "it was and it wasn't. Anyone and everyone around there would have told you it was a stage crew accident, but I caught the guy drunk at a party one night and he spilled the whole thing and dear god is it a beautiful story."

As the group continued on, there was a moment of silence before Ashley spoke up.

"Well, are you going to leave us in suspense or are you going to tell us what really happened to Danny?"

Turning around so that he was walking backwards and facing the group, Paul continued.

"Yes Miss Vasquez I most certainly am," Paul said as he brought on his used car salesman voice, "but first, certainly first let me paint you a picture. It was a bright autumn day, leaves a falling and the sky so bright, and Danny Tran, everyone's favorite stage crew geek and star basketball player had finally gotten a date with one Miss Lori Nicotero, or Girl # 1 to you sports fans out there. It took him a lot of poking and prodding to get such a sweet piece of ass, pardon my French ladies, but he was certainly one not to look a gift horse in the mouth."

Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4, jokingly rolled her eyes at the joker as he continued his story, but didn't have it in her to tell him to stop now.

"So, anyway one day at lunch she comes up to Danny and tells him that she wants to fuck and that she wants to fuck now. So, being the genius that he is, Danny takes the keys to the auditorium that he'd been trusted with by our wonderful principal herself and breaks in. Of course, they decide to be discrete, and begin making out in the middle of the stage."

"Yeah, that's always a good idea," Ashley remarked sarcastically.

"Well, it gets better," Paul replied with a malicious grin, "things start getting hot and heavy real fast and one thing leading to another as they often do, Lori gets her hand in Danny's underwear and gets our friend rather excited."

Lexie Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 20, looked on at the rather tasteless course their conversation and was a bit disgusted, but wasn't one to ruin the situation. The others seemed to enjoy the anecdote at least.

"Well, next thing he knows the outside door opens and all Danny can see is this bright white box with this horrific Jesus-like shadow of the stage manager standing in the path. Being the rocket surgeon that he is, our friend Danny ducks to the floor. Trouble is, he forgets two things. First, Lori currently has him in the palm of her hand quite literally. Second, she's got a very strong grip. So, as he's ducking to the floor, she's standing and still holding on and more or less pulls his muscle out by the roots."

Ashley, Francisco, Carter and even Katherine to an extent laughed at the situation.

"So, he's got this pulled muscle, passes out from the shock and surprise and BAM! Falls off stage headfirst into the orchestra pit and gets himself a concussion."

"That's gotta suck," Ashley deadpanned.

"Yeah," Paul said, "he's got problems getting it up to this day, but he makes due. They had to write it off as an accident though so the insurance people wouldn't freak out about someo-"

Paul tripped backwards over the root of a large tree, landing in a puddle with a dull thud and a splash. As Francisco stepped forward to help his friend back onto his feet, a sound stopped everyone in their tracks.

It was the distinct sound of a shotgun being pumped.

Looking up into the small clearing they'd found, the six members of SABRE locked eyes with the four members of the previously lunching wrestling group. CC Collins, a.k.a. Girl # 17 sat by in fear of the large group with a half opened MRE in hand, while Boy # 11, Bo Adrian, Boy # 13, Mike Vriess and Boy # 23, Joel Giovanello sat and knelt with their weapons aimed high.

For a long while, nobody spoke.

* * *

Carter was preparing to say something, anything, a simple sentence or phrase that could break up the awkward silence brought on by the two groups meeting each other. He was the leader of this little task force, he had to say something, right? Instead, the first person to speak was Joel, hardly saying what everyone else had hoped to hear. 

"KILL 'EM ALL!" he yelled, lifting his shotgun high. Firing it off wildly and blasting a large chunk out of a tree behind the members of SABRE. Mike lifted his pistol, aiming to hit Carter. He fired off three shots, two hitting air and one intercepted by Francisco as he dodged to push Carter out of the way.

Rolling to the ground, Ashley unleashed both barrels from her sawed-off, blasting away at quite a few ferns yet not even getting close to anyone from the wrestling squad. Hiding behind a few trees, Lexie fired blindly towards Mike with little success, while he unloaded more shots in her direction. Ducking down behind a stump, Joel fired two more shots at Paul, neither connecting and both causing him to drop to the floor.

Calling it chaos would have been an understatement.

"What the fuck is going on?" a bewildered Paul asked as he rolled over next to Ashley.

"I have no fucking clue!" Ashley hollered as she reloaded her shotgun. As more shots rained down around her, she pointed to the grenades on Paul's chest and shrieked once more, "Scatter those sons of bitches!"

Looking around for a second, Paul didn't make the connection, but another quick look to the grenades seemed to confirm it. Pulling one of the explosives from his belt, he ripped free its pin and threw it in the general vicinity of the wrestlers.

Bo watched as the elliptical explosive flew through the air in the driving rain, falling to the ground a few feet between him and Joel. Both men stopped firing to look at their predicament, while Joel simply yelled, "SHIIIIIT!"

The wrestlers scattered every which way as the bomb exploded in a hail of fire and jagged metal.

"WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!" Carter yelled over the gunfire and rain, looking for a way out and getting nothing but green and rain. This was a forest, hell, a jungle, and yet nothing seemed to leap out as an immediate hiding place. Under any other circumstances, Carter would have laughed, but as another bullet to the ground sent mud onto his chest, he simply ducked, rolling on the ground and next to Francisco. The big man was lying on the ground with his head propped against the tree, breathing shallowly as he held onto his chest.

"Are you hit?" Carter asked.

"I'm fine," Francisco replied, "Just get me the hell out of here."

Trying to stand up, Carter found himself ducking down once more as Bo and Mike fired a succession of pistol shots. They were pinned down, no way to get out without getting shot.

* * *

Having avoided the conflict after tossing his grenade, Paul hid behind the tree that had braced the members of SABRE against the wrestler's onslaught. He could fight, he knew that he had to, but his weapons weren't exactly the best that could be managed in a firefight. Hand grenades, chainsaw, all great on their own but not exactly what he'd have favored. 

Sure, he could toss in another bomb, but there were only five left and something told him he'd probably need them for the rest of the game. Then there was the chainsaw, a beautiful weapon and the trademark of Paul's personal hero, but here, what could he do, just run up and attack Joel? Yeah, right, he'd get a chest full of pellets for his trouble on that one. Seriously, what good is a tool for cutting down trees in a firefight...

Getting an inspiration, Paul looked behind him and smiled.

* * *

To those involved in the firefight, the sound of Paul's chainsaw roaring was drowned out by the gunfire and the rain, followed by Paul's subsequent yell of "Timber!" 

However, none of them could miss the fact that a large tree fell down between them. More than any grenade ever could, the tree that Paul had cut down scattered the wrestlers and members of SABRE. As the wet leaves settled and people got their bearings once more, Lexie could see that she had been separated from the main group, with only Mike V. visible. The rest must have been on the other side, and Ashley, well, she seemed to have just disappeared from sight altogether.

As the gunfire resumed, Katherine looked to Lexie over the fallen tree and yelled, "Get the hell out of here!"

Lexie fired a few more shots through the mess of branches and leaves. Visibility truly was poor, whatever Paul had done, he had done it real good. All she could see were the occasional orange pops coming from Mike's pistol, but the sounds were as loud and clear as ever.

"I can't leave you guys!" Lexie shrieked, "We have to stick together!"

"No time!" Katherine yelled, "Get running and we'll meet you at the field! I'll cover, just get moving!"

Like that, Katherine fired off her remaining bullets in quick succession, watching as Lexie ran down the slight incline. Mike soon followed, firing off a quick string of bullets, but Lexie's head start was enough to afford her protection for the moment.

At that, Katherine managed a quick reload of her revolver as Carter looked on intently. Francisco was having trouble standing, balancing much of his weight on Carter's shoulders, and was breathing pretty hard. He wouldn't make it far.

"Come on!" Carter yelled as another shotgun blast echoed off, cutting through the rain like a hot knife through butter. Getting an arm under Frank's shoulders, Katherine helped him walk along as the three remaining members of SABRE took off for places unknown.

"GOD DAMN IT!" Joel yelled over the rain, quickly reloading his shotgun, "THEY'RE GETTING AWAY, LET'S MOVE IT!"

* * *

Having disappeared from the fray, Ashley and Paul sat high in the branches of a tree overlooking the fight. Ashley had her shotgun reloaded and aimed at the ground, while Paul was ready to throw a grenade at a moments notice, but for the time being they chose to remain out of it. Neither really had the weapons for a full on fight, and it was a fight to be taken care of another day. 

While Ashley cursed the branch that was poking her ass, Paul just hoped that everyone would be all right...

* * *

They couldn't have been more than ten feet apart, each with their back against opposite walls of the concrete utility shed. Occasionally they would fire a shot back and forth, reaching their arm around to set off a couple bullets blindly, but other than that all they could know was the sound of the driving rain and the weapons they held in hand. 

Lexie reloaded an extra clip frantically, trying not to let her hands shake too much. The rain chilled her to the bone, and the tension of the situation didn't make things that much better.

Mike too looked nervously at his pistol as he reloaded the weapon, but for different reasons entirely. He had maybe, what, thirty shots left? That wasn't enough to last the rest of the game. Shit, at the rate he was going that wasn't enough to last the rest of the firefi-BAM!

A small chunk of concrete blew its way into Mike's face as Lexie took another shot in his direction, this one coming inches from tearing away his cheek.

"God damn it Lexie can you just shut the hell up? You're making this a whole lot harder than it has to be!"

"Oh fuck you Mike!" Lexie yelled over the rain as she fired three more shots in his direction.

"Hey, I thought you liked it that way!" Mike yelled with his evil grin. He began to formulate a plan, trying to call her out so bullets wouldn't be as big a problem, "Don'tcha want a good fuck about now? We can do it real hard and dirty up against this wall here, like old times, whaddya say?"

Lexie shuddered at the memory. Mike was reasonably cute when he wanted to be, undeniably charming when he turned it on thick, and Lexie, well, just didn't mix well with whiskey. The backseat of Mike's old Ford, some cheap pounding rap music, and the stench of something mixed in with that ancient leather back seat... Lexie was just thanking God that she still had the presence of mind at the time to convince Mike to wear a condom.

Still, even she couldn't help the anger boiling up as that slimy little shit stood over there mocking her. She rolled out from behind the wall for a moment exposing her body as she lifted her arm up, letting loose a stream of semi-automatic fire.

"You son of a bitch!" she yelled as small bursts of flame came from the barrel of her pistol.

Bracing himself against the wall, Mike prepared for action. He managed a quick roll from behind his corner of the shed, quickly pulling out the bicycle chain he'd attached to the straight razor and whipped it in Lexie's direction. Having not expected this move, Lexie didn't have the time to react as the blade flew her way, the rusty piece of metal tearing into her arm as the chain wrapped around her wrist. Pulling it tight, Mike used both hands to jerk Lexie hard and knocked off her feet.

He almost laughed, pouncing on top of her as he sat on her chest. Lexie gasped as the air was sucked from her lungs, looking up blindly as rain fell directly into her face. She could hear Mike laugh as he grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, lifting her head up from the ground and slamming it down with a dull thud. Darkness shot through her vision as pain became her world, everything feeling slightly dim for a brief second. Then Mike lifted her head up again, and again, slamming her skull into the muddy ground and bloodying her scalp.

Looking down to the wounded girl, Mike smiled. He pulled the pistol from her limp hand, throwing it aside as he viewed the half-conscious girl writhe about on the ground. He had to kill her, otherwise, well, he wouldn't win, and Joel would probably kill him. Still... she could be pretty hot right now if she'd wanted to be, and, well, she was more docile than they usually were. Hell, he wouldn't even need a rufee this time.

He looked around, trying to spot Joel, or anyone else who would be trying to get in the way of the next five minutes... _Only rain, nobody else._ He smiled, kneeling with his legs over Lexie's as she exposed.Her belt was easy enough to pull loose, unclasping and falling to the side as he began to pull the tucked in portion of her shirt from her pants. He crossed his hands over her well tanned and toned six-pack, trailing his fingers higher as he pulled her shirt up and over her breasts. Sure, they weren't the largest or most shapely, but god bless her for never wearing a bra.

He grinned even wider, pulling his slightly burned hands from her chest as he reached for his belt.

In retrospect, he should have been watching her face to make sure that she really was out, but hey, only one brain could work at a time. He looked over briefly to see that her eyes had opened slightly, turning his grin into a look of confusion, and then into a grimace as it felt like his testicles had been crushed with a sledgehammer. Well, it wasn't a sledgehammer so much as it was Lexie's powerful foot, but he wasn't in a position to really tell.

She kicked him in the crotch once more, then pushing him off as he howled in pain in the mud. She got up quickly, head mixed with disgust in revulsion. A lot of it was probably from the beating she'd just received about the head, but moreso from the fact that she was going to be raped by Mike V. of all people. Fuck that is just wrong. That son of a bitch, he was going to rape me!

She pulled her shirt and pants back into a more comfortable position and watched as Mike hobbled across the ground to try and find his gun. Not missing a beat, she pulled the baseball bat from her backpack and swung at the prone wrestler. She connected with the small of his back, causing him to fall down screaming. Still holding his chained blade in hand, he lashed out in an effort to slash Lexie across the belly.

With surprising agility, she jumped back and swung her bat again, connecting with Mike's wrist in an audible crack as he howled in pain and dropped the weapon.

"You sick fuck!" she hissed, kicking him in the chest as he fell to the ground on his back. He tried to get up, but straining her powerful arms Lexie took a long windup with the bat as she lifted it up to her shoulder. Just like in practice, hit it out of the park...

She smashed the aluminum baseball bat hard across Mike's face, knocking him to the ground and stealing his consciousness. His face was a mess of blood running from his shattered nose and mouth, where he coughed up more than a few broken teeth onto his cheeks. She kicked him in the gut once more while he was down, spitting on his bloodied shirt.

With pure rage, Lexie looked down as the rain washed his face clean while she lifted her bat overhead. He was alive, but not for much longer, oh no. She'd make sure of that.

Looking down to the ruined face though, she didn't see the face of Mike V. She saw Sky, her mouth dimly open with a hole bored in her neck from when Brian shot her. She could see those pleading eyes as her sister asked for help, soon turned to ruined empty sacks as Lexie crushed her face in with that same baseball bat. She shouldn't have looked, but she saw the eye bulging from Sky's face after she crushed her sister's skull. She wasn't killing Mike, she was killing Sky all over again.

Walking back to the concrete shed, Lexie braced her arms against the wall as revulsion took her over, causing her to vomit convulsively onto the wall as tears and rain streamed down her face. Get me out of here God, please. I don't belong here, please get me out. Just take me home so I can see Sky and mom and dad and my cat and all my friends again, please?

The rain brought her back to reality though, and a harsh one it was at that. Her skull ached from the beating, but she couldn't give up now. She had to find the others, had to find them so she could escape. She had to get away from the rest of the wrestlers, because they had guns and were ready to kill her too.

She found her pistol and tucked it back into her pants, while saddling up her backpack and holding her bat high. Lexie ran into the forest, leaving Mike behind to either die of his wounds or let someone else take him out. She didn't care, he was out and dead to her, yet at the same time she couldn't finish him off.

Wet leaves and branches slapped at her and scratched her skin as she ran with heart pounding. She could hear them in the trees, hiding, ready to strike, ready to fire off their guns as they were going to kill her. It was pure fear, Lexie was alone for the first time in the game and she suddenly realized it. She had been with Sky, or she had been with Paul, or she had been with SABRE, but never had she known loneliness and the pure fear it created in the Battle Royale.

Lexie could feel the tears again as she pushed through more ferns. She wanted to see some familiar faces, friendly faces, anyone who would be willing to tell her that everything was going to be all right and that they were going to be safe and they were going to get ou-

A strong pair of arms enveloped Lexie as she ran, one wrapping around her stomach and the other covering her mouth. They pulled her tightly against a tree, her back pressing into the chest of an unseen figure who spoke into her ear softly and rapidly.

"Lexie, ease up, I'm not going to kill you!" the masculine voice said as it breathed warm air against Lexie's ear.

Letting adrenaline take over, she rammed the butt of the bat into her opponents gut. He let out a gasp of air and groaned in pain as she hit him again, getting him to loosen his grasp as he fell back into the tree. Swinging the bat down, Lexie connected with his knee in a sickening THOCK, then spinning her body around as she cracked her attacker once over the head.

A thin spray of blood came from Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15's scalp as Lexie connected, knocking the man out cold before he even managed to get in one sentence with the girl he loved. Not knowing this, Lexie simply continued running, beginning to question her sanity and beginning to cry steadily.

"Is anyone out there?" she asked softly. She got no response other than the rain.

* * *

Another shotgun blast tore bark from a nearby tree, throwing wooden shrapnel in Katherine's face as she ran by. As the pain intensified, Francisco stumbled to the ground, then quickly back up to his feet. 

"Come on Frankie," Carter said quickly as he helped pull the other man to his feet and behind a tree, "You ain't dying here."

"Yeah, I am," the big man said with a bit of a smile, looking to the steadily widening red dot on the lower left side of his chest. He'd caught the shot pushing Carter out of the way and wasn't too proud about it, but at least his friend was all right. That much Francisco was thankful for.

"Oh my god!" Katherine exclaimed, looking over her shoulder quickly before attending to Francisco's wounds, "We have to get you out of here!"

Francisco simply pushed the girl's hands away and let out a soft smile. "No, no, leave me and get the hell out of here."

"But-"

"I'm done for," Francisco continued. "I'm not surviving this, Kate, but you sure as hell can."

Looking up with slightly glazed eyes, Francisco smiled to Carter. "You take care of her and get your sorry asses out of here. I'll try and hold them off-"

He coughed with a light mist of blood, then wiping his lips, he spat, "I'll try and hold them off for as long as I can. Now get out."

He pushed himself off of the tree, watching as Carter and Katherine both took hesitant steps back. Carter himself looked resigned to what he had to do, though honestly didn't care for it, while Katherine... Katherine was doing her best to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks. Not that anyone would notice in the rain, but she wasn't willing to leave Francisco, SABRE's pillar of strength, behind.

"Get out!" Francisco yelled with a pained look, "RUN!"

Carter started to walk away faster, pulling Katherine by her hand as she kept her eyes locked with Francisco's. This time the tears did begin to fall, mixing with the rainwater as it soaked through her hair and ran down her face. At this, Carter just pulled Katherine harder by the arm, leading her away and through a thicket of bushes among the tree.

Francisco winced in pain as he watched his two friends run away into the driving rain. He'd have smiled if he could... they did make a cute couple after all... but at the moment things were a bit more complicated. He'd been shot in the chest, he was dying, Joel and his gang were chasing them, and Carter and Katherine needed a head start.

He closed his eyes, focusing away from the pain as he pulled the blood and rain sodden shirt from his body and tossed it to the side. Reaching around his neck, he pulled free the small gold cross from its chain. He wrapped the chain tightly around his fingers, kissing it gently as he closed his eyes tighter. Lord, give me the strength and speed to do what I must and save those who need saving.

Opening his eyes, he smiled widely as he gripped the end of the police baton tighter in his hands. _Come on Joel, show me what you've got..._

* * *

Joel walked cautiously through the trees as Bo flanked him with his revolver and CC hung back as a lookout. He held his shotgun high, its folding stock brought out so that he could get the ultimate effect out of his powerful weapon. He'd followed them; the redhead, the nice piece of ass and Francisco. Yeah, he'd admired Frankie, the Tank who tied up Josh to make easy pickings for them, he'd be a great addition to the team. However, if what the scrawny class clown Joel had blown away had said was right, Francisco wasn't lookin to kill and wouldn't be any good for them. Besides, he was surrounded by all those other pussies. 

"Joel, I think we lost them man," Bo said, letting his arm drop.

Joel whirled around, pointing the shotgun at Bo as he looked on with hostile eyes.

"We haven't lost them, not now, not ever, we're going to find these sons of bitches before they can-"

"JOEL LOOK OUT!" CC shrieked as she pointed towards the figure rushing their way.

Joel hardly had time to turn as Francisco threw his full body's weight into the captain of the wrestling team. Joel fell down, the shotgun flying from his hands into some nearby bushes as Francisco started beating Joel with his police baton like a member of LAPD's finest.

"FUCK!" Joel yelled as he was pounded into the ground, holding up his hands in defense and getting pain as his only response, "BO, SHOOT THIS SACK OF SHIT!"

Bo held his revolver up hesitantly and looked to Francisco. This was it, this was the best shot he would get. He could let Joel die here and now with no consequences, and neither CC nor Mike would be able to put up much of a fight about it.

"I, I can't get a shot!" Bo lied as Francisco stood tall over their stricken leader.

"Shoot him!" CC pleaded, "Shoot him Bo!"

"Shoot him GOD DAMN IT!" Joel yelled as he rolled away from a blow.

"NO!" Francisco yelled, pulling Joel onto his knees in front of him with the baton across his throat, holding him up as a human shield.

"You shoot me and we all die," Francisco said, getting their attention as Joel struggled for breath, "I'm with a group some others, we've got a way out of here if you just listen to me and don't fucking shoot!"

There was a pause as the others let it sink in. CC's eyes filled with panic as she looked to her boyfriend being held by the monstrous Mexican everyone called Frank the Tank. Joel looked to her pleadingly, mouthing the words 'Shoot him!' Bo's eyes on the other hand had a slight glimmer of hope behind them. There was a way out? Fucking awesome man! The guys with the orange bandannas, they were all working to get out and Bo had worked with Joel to break them up? How fucking stupid was that?

Faster than anyone could comprehend, CC dove towards Bo and wrenched the revolver from his hands. Leveling off a shot towards Francisco, she aimed for his heart. Pulling the trigger, besides a sharp crack and recoil that almost pulled her off her feet, she got a spray of blood and bone from the big man's shoulder. Francisco howled, letting go of Joel as CC fired another shot, this one hitting Francisco in the gut.

Francisco's body shuddered as what little strength he had left evaporated. He could see things haze over for a moment as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

"Fucking shit!" Joel hissed as he rolled away from Francisco, grabbing his shotgun and aiming it at Bo.

"When I say shoot the son of a bitch I fucking expect you to shoot him or so help me god I will fucking kill you!" Joel said with angry eyes as his throat began to bruise over, "And don't think I won't, if any of you crosses me I'll fucking shoot you!"

"I'm sorry man," Bo said as he raised his hands defensively, "I couldn't get a shot!"

"Couldn't get a shot my ass," Joel muttered as CC ran over, clinging to him. She kissed him feverishly.

"Are you all right honey?" she asked, to which he shrugged her off and looked at Francisco. He wanted to check the big man for a weapon, or anything else they could use, but he didn't appear to be armed. Fucking baton wasn't any good in a firefight, leave that behind.

Looking to Frank's visible hand though, he could see something that did look reasonably cool. Kneeling down beside the big man, Joel pulled the thin gold chain from Francisco's fingers. _Tiny gold cross, high quality though. Sign of a badass, lots of those gang members wear them, don't they?_

Smiling his cocky smile as he stood back up, Joel pulled the cross from Francisco's hand and let the chain dangle around his neck. _Awww yeah, that looks right. Spic split your lip all those years back, gave you a scar, about time something good came of it all. _He stood from his crouching position and looked to Bo and CC.

"Come on, we gotta find Mike and the rest of these pussies so we can wipe 'em out."

Lifting up his shotgun once more, Joel took his attention from the not-quite dead Francisco long enough for the fatally wounded SABRE member to get his last shot in. With a final gasp and a smile from his bloodied lips, Francisco pulled the ice pick he'd stolen from Josh from the back of his belt and rammed it into the Achilles heel of Joel's right foot.

The wrestler let out a high pitched scream as he wheeled around (now carrying a noticeable limp), firing two shots in quick succession from his shotgun into Francisco's head and chest. With a stream of expletives that surprised even Bo and CC, he pulled the bloody ice pick free and threw it into the bushes some distance away, getting an audible yelp as it scratched Katherine's face.

A look of surprise crossed the three as Joel lifted his shotgun and aimed it in the direction of the foreign sound.

* * *

Carter quickly clapped his hand over Katherine's mouth as a thin trail of blood crossed her right cheek. She looked with wild eyes as Carter tried to quiet her, but it may have been too late. They just had to do it, they had to watch and see if Francisco would need help. Call it charity or friendship, but they had to know, had to see. 

As Joel let loose the first blast from his shotgun, tearing up the bush they'd been hiding behind, Katherine regretted the need to know. She lifted up her revolver, thankful for having loaded it while they were hiding, and firing off two shots in Joel's direction.

"Move!" Carter yelled as he pulled Katherine by the arm, ducking as another thundering boom from the shotgun echoed behind them and got nothing but air. Katherine fired another shot back defensively, then ducking beneath some tree branches as they ran through the jungle. She watched Carter's back as his large frame sprinted over logs and under vines, cutting through the rain as it fell through the trees.

"Where are we going?" Katherine yelled over the din as a few more shots echoed behind them, whining through the air and impacting some nearby trees.

"I have no idea!" Carter yelled in response as they came into something of a clearing in the trees. They could see the end of it now, an empty expanse of sky with a sheer dropoff in the forest. Katherine stumbled, tripping over what looked like, what the hell, a skateboard?

Another shotgun blast brought her back into the world as she fired another from her revolver back in the direction of her pursuers. They continued running, stopping only as they reached the edge of the cliff.

The pair looked down towards the ocean below, with waves crashing around rocks. There was a wide area that happened to be rock free, but it was at least a fifty, maybe sixty foot fall. They looked into each other's eyes, listening as Joel and his crew fired a few more shots. They were getting closer, it wouldn't be long.

"I have two more shots," Katherine said.

"We can't," Carter said, "Not now, not ever."

Looking over the edge briefly, Carter looked into her eyes, "We can make it."

Looking over herself, Katherine seemed to be even more afraid. "I can't..."

"Yes you can!" Carter told her, putting both hands on her shoulders as he looked into her eyes.

"No, I really can't, I can't swim!" Katherine said with genuine fear.

As another shot came from maybe 75 feet away, Carter did something he never thought he'd have the courage to do. Then again, he would need a lot of courage to do what they were going to do next anyway, but this... this he'd been imagining for years.

He kissed her. He pressed his lips against hers, holding her close. Caught off guard, Katherine didn't know how to take it, but despite the circumstances she found herself enjoying it, and closing her eyes in the moment.

As he parted from her, Carter spoke rapidly, "I love you, I've loved you for as long as I can remember, and I'm not willing to let you die. We can do this, I know it."

Looking back, they could see as Joel cleared the trees and lifted his shotgun. Katherine looked to Carter and nodded remorsefully.

Joining hands, Carter and Katherine leaped from the edge of the cliff and into an unknown future.


	40. Hour 35: 22 Contestants Remaining

Hour 35

22 Contestants Remaining

It was white. Bright light, a bit harsh, but at the same time not all that unpleasant. She opened her eyes, rubbing the sleep from them and wondering where in the heck she was. This wasn't what she remembered, no, she remembered the trees, she remembered the island. She remembered falling...

Raising her head from the hard surface she could see what it was. A desk? Here, no, this definitely wasn't right. She looked around, sizing up her surroundings and noticing that they were unbelievably familiar. It was... biology class.

"Miss Farraday," a stern voice spoke, "class is over. The picnic has started and I don't think you want to miss it."

Looking to the other side of the room, she noticed Mr. Rhodes behind his desk. He had his feet kicked up on the desk and had an open copy of Field & Stream sprawled out across his lap, while in his hands he polished one of his many trademark golf clubs. Katherine found herself at a lack of words. Normally it wouldn't be a problem talking to Mr. Rhodes, he was one of the nicest teachers around and willing to talk to anyone about pretty much anything, but given the fact that the last time she'd seen him he had stuck a revolver in his mouth and blown his brains across a chalkboard, it did seem a little odd.

"Go on," he said with a smile as he polished a nine iron, "they got ice cream over there and I'm sure they'll be running out soon if you don't run on over there."

"Thanks," Katherine said, still trying to get a gauge on the situation. It couldn't all be, could it? Was this all just some vivid dream? Was everyone still alive, and the Battle Royale just a figment of her imagination? Was she losing her mind?

She left the classroom, feeling sunlight hit her face in what felt to be the most pleasant of ways. She could hear music off in the distance, old rock, good stuff.

She passed Nick and Tamyra making out in one of the back corners between an aisle of lockers. They emitted sounds of passion as Nick ground his girlfriend up against the wall, and Katherine could only smile. It had been so long since she had felt that way. She thought she had it there for a bit, but no, just a dream. Why did it have to be a dream? It's never real, it's never there. Just a figment of your imagination, especially when he's a real decent guy.

Making it to the quad, Katherine surveyed the groups as they gathered for the one last time they'd have together. It was the senior picnic, mere hours after graduation and after that, Grad Nite. It was to be their one last hurrah, and it truly made Katherine sad. High school had brought her some of her lowest lows, ever since Jeremy attacked her, but at the same time it had some of the greatest moments in her life. She'd met some of the best friends she thought she could have.

Seeing these people again made her smile.

On the grass a quick game of tag football was going down. Jacob, Peter and Shane were brutalizing Brian, Karen and Homer, not that any of them seemed to mind. There were smiles all around as Shane scored a touchdown. The fact that Homer was still hanging on and trying to take the big guy down wasn't even that much of an issue, his happiness seemed to overrule all bad in the world.

Scattered along the edge of the grass were some picnic blankets as various students milled around. Sky and Naomi watched the game, cheering along as another goal was made. Ayane and Maxine lay on another, hands intertwined as they looked to the clouds and tried to guess what they all looked like. Eliza and Jackson laid back on a large patchwork quilt of t-shirts that Eliza had put together. Jackson was playing his guitar, singing songs from the 60's to the captive audience of Elena and Blake.

"_Dear Mr. Fantasy,"_ he sang, _"play us a tune, something to make us all happy; do anything, take us out of this gloom, sing a song, play guitar, make it snappy..."_

Over at the tables Geiger and AJ played what appeared to be a rather intense game of checkers, not that anyone could notice. Court was being held, and the popular girls ruled all as they tended to do. The order of the day though didn't happen to be picking on the underlings. This was graduation day, the last time they'd be able to appreciate who they were and what they had left. Normally the queens of spite, Brynn and Cheryl sat laughing at the table along with Lisa, Serenity, Dora and Tammy (an odd addition as it seemed, but she did look different, she had strength and beauty). They giggled and took pictures of each other, exchanging yearbooks and ice cream as Luke told a very animated and very dirty story, getting them to laugh even harder. Gervase tried his best to get into the conversation, making his usual attempts to pick up a phone number or two. Pulling his yearbook away to find the number of one hot Latina by the name of Brynn Sanchez, he couldn't help but dance, while she could only smile.

No one noticed as Josh came walking by on his hands, but when he fell and immediately got to his feet, there were laughs all around.

"I meant to do that!" he proclaimed to a captive audience. They laughed.

Katherine sighed as she looked to their faces. They were all so happy, all full of life. They were all as they should have been and wanted to be, not ugly on the inside, not frightful that they won't make it through the next day. No, they were all happy, all looking forward to a future that wasn't going to come. They were the dead. She knew that around her they were all dead, shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, torn apart. They were torn apart by each other. We were all family not too long back, when we graduated we were all family and now it's come to this? It's come to a point where everyone has gone away and now... Now I'm one of them. The ocean, the water, it must've...

"For what it's worth, you're not dead," a voice from behind said optimistically, "you want some ice cream?"

She turned around, her hair fluttering in the warm breeze. There he was, in the flesh. Francisco Marquez, formerly Boy # 22, sat at a bench with a bowl of ice cream in his hand and more than enough covering his lips.

"It's chocolate," he said enthusiastically, "very good."

"Wha..." Katherine trailed off, "where are we? Is this-"

"Heaven?" Francisco asked, simply shrugging his shoulders, "I dunno. The best I can figure is that it's something of a dream. We're all here because we're supposed to be, good, bad, otherwise, in the end we've all got it equal."

She could hear faint crying in the background and pressure on her chest, the first pain she could feel since she'd arrived back at Braiwood High.

"He's trying to help you," Francisco continued, "if I was you I'd let him too. You're not supposed to be here for a long while."

She could hear the sounds in the back of her head even louder, near sobbing, his voice calling for her, "KATHERINE!"

"Go to him," Francisco said as he touched her arm, "he really does love with you."

Katherine nodded, trying not to forget this time and place. Trying not to forget Francisco and the others. She tried not to forget the happiness and the world without pain.

As she closed her eyes and the world swirled over to black, she forgot.

* * *

Pumping her chest for the third solid minute, Carter was practically sobbing. She couldn't die, not now, not ever. For fifteen years he'd had the privilege of knowing this beautiful face, seeing her day in day out knowing that she was everything that life was meant for and that he couldn't touch her. Then, the moment he'd finally brought himself to admitting his feelings for her, the moment he said he loved her, the moment he kissed her, this game took her away. _No God,_ _you've done me wrong before and I haven't complained. You put me here and I didn't write you off. You've fucked with my life far too many times as is, let alone this poor and damaged angel. You owe her better than that, you owe her better..._

They'd survived the fall, a fall so strong it ripped the pack from his shoulders and sent it to the ocean floor and knocked him out cold for just a second. Then as he regained consciousness and fought to get to the surface, he could see Katherine struggling among the waves, trying to avoid the rocks. He swam, swam faster than he ever knew he could before and latched onto Katherine. They floated together down the coast of the island for nearly twenty minutes as they were battered about by the currents, with Carter constantly fighting to keep the pair of them afloat.

It was cold. Far too cold, and they had become weak. Carter was having trouble keeping himself afloat, his limbs feeling numb and dull, while Katherine was sputtering in the water.

Finding a point as they reached the southern end of the island, Carter could finally touch his feet to the sand. By then Katherine's body couldn't stand the cold and exhaustion. By then her face was floating inches beneath the surface, and she'd stopped struggling.

Carter pumped on her chest even harder, trying not to break her ribs but at the same time trying to bring life back into her withered frame. Please God, please...

She coughed spastically as the water exited her lungs, convulsing heavily as her body rid itself of the salt water while Carter could only muster tears of joy and hug her in close.

"I'm cold," she muttered, before passing out from a combination of exhaustion and hypothermia. Carter's smile faded as she slumped back into the wet sand, looking around as he wondered what to do next.

* * *

"Come on Katherine, stay awake," Carter said as he cradled her in his arms. He carried her up the beach towards the tree line, looking for any way to find some cover. After reviving her and a quick map check, he knew that there was a structure nearby. It wasn't a big one, and by the sounds of it "Laundry Building" may not have been the best choice, but it was the only one. 

She was heavy. Well, she wasn't really heavy as it was, 110 lbs. if that, but not being in the best of shape didn't help Carter out. He stumbled as he slung her pack over his shoulder, carrying her in his arms with the revolver with his free hand. Not good, just push on a little further, it's maybe a hundred, two hundred yards up from the beach, that's hardly even three blocks, you can do it Carter, you can-

He stumbled over the roots of a tree, cursing himself as he did.

And then he heard it. The groan.

Looking down as he held Katherine in his arms, Carter could see it. It was a body, lying up against the tree. Looking at the ground, it seemed as if it had been dragged or crawled up here from the beach, covered in muck, mud and seaweed it didn't look like much, and the ugly looking gash in the side of its neck didn't seem any better. It breathed shallowly, face obscured in a thick layer of dirt as its mouth hung open limply.

_It's got an arm off, is that The Demon? Jesus Christ, it's a fucking zombie. What in the hell happ-_

The crature sat up jarringly and shrieked out in another's voice, "HAVE YOU SEEN IT? HAVE YOU SEEN THE DARKNESS INSIDE OF ME?"

Carter jumped back (and almost out of his skin as it seemed) as The Demon rose. He clumsily aimed Katherine's revolver towards the dying beast as it settled back against the tree and decided against it almost immediately. The monster was dead already, or if not would soon be dead. Shooting it... That'd be a waste of bullets.

Trying not to look over his shoulder towards the ruined body of Damien Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17, Carter pushed on through the forest.

* * *

She was in a severe case of shock, not that she could really tell though. She'd been somewhat in and out of it ever since she crushed her sister's face in with a baseball bat, but this one clinched it. Lexie Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 20, for lack of a better word, was really screwed up. 

Frank was dead. He shouldn't have died, he was here to protect her. He'd keep her sane, smile, make some comment to take her out of a place where she was constantly fearing for her life.

And there he was... She rocked against the tree looking at his remains, feeling the ache from the injuries she'd sustained from her battle with Mike V, yet not even caring. Cold? Pain? Who gives a damn?

"Jesus Christ," a male voice said from behind, something that would have likely startled Lexie had she not been so gorked out.

As she rocked back and forth against the tree even more, she could see their forms. Two outlines, both short, one stocky, one wiry. They came out of the rain as if it were nowhere, and Lexie knew she was supposed to be afraid. She was supposed to scream, or she was supposed to fight. Instead, she kept rocking against the tree.

"Francisco?" Girl # 5, Ashley Vasquez asked idly as she stepped forward with shotgun in hand. As she got closer and could see the extent of his injuries, Ashley paused.

"Awww shit, Frank..."

"The Tank's down?" Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12 asked as he followed Ashley out from behind the tree. They didn't notice her, she was scrunched up pretty good, and the mud that covered her body probably added to the camouflage that much more, but as far as Lexie knew, she may very well have been invisible.

"Yeah man, The Tank's down," Ashley responded with a shade of remorse. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled the flask she'd stolen from Peter's body and uncapped it in one deft motion. With a turn of the wrist she poured a small amount of it to the ground in a sign of respect, then taking a good swig for herself. She held it out to Paul for a moment, but as he politely declined she capped the flask and put it back into her pocket.

"Francisco, you were too good for this game, too good for us, and too good for this world. I'm hoping you're rubbing elbows with the greats, and that things don't suck wherever you are as much as they do here."

She paused for a moment while Paul looked on in remembrance. She then quickly added, "We need to get out of here."

"Where are we going?" Paul asked.

"Stick with the plan," Ashley responded, "Carter, Katherine, Lexie, if they're around and they got any sense in them they're gonna be heading for the meetin spot at the airfield."

"And if they don't?" Paul asked.

"Then it's gonna be a long walk home," Ashley replied.

"Shit, we've been hit Ash," Paul said, "we've been hit and Joel and his fucking gang are still out there. If we just double back to the base we can at least survive in this mess for a while, and we've definitely got a better shot at getting out of here."

"Yeah," Ashley replied, "that does sound good, but if Carter and the others are waiting for us over there as is they're likely gonna be waiting for us until they see someone come by, and I'd want them to see us if they're gonna see anyone, since we ain't gonna be poppin them anytime soon."

Paul looked down as Ashley began to take over the situation.

"We have to stick together, otherwise we're fucked," Ashley continued, "Paul, they need us and I need you, and I'm going to the airfield. Are you with me?"

Lexie watched from her spot at the base of the tree from just out of their view as Ashley put the shotgun at arms length from her body. Paul seemed hesitant as the rain and wind seemed to pick up, but smiling his broad and enthusiastic smile, he brought up his chainsaw and clanged it up against her weapon.

"Let's do this," Paul said as Ashley smiled. She playfully patted her friend on the shoulder as the pair pulled their gear together and prepared to walk away. Pausing for a moment, Ashley knelt down by Francisco's corpse and pulled free the police baton. She looped it through her belt and continued walking away with Paul as they disappeared into the forest.

_Join them. Go on Lexie, join them. I can't though, they're all dead. I don't want to die. You will die if you don't go with them, you will die if you cannot. Should I stay or should I go? Darling you've got to let me know, should I stay or should I go? No time for singing Lexie, you will fucking die if you do not go with them. Go with them, please? All right. I'm going, I'm going. Check your gun before you go, all right?_

Coming out of her haze for the moment, Lexie did indeed check her clip and found it to be full. One in the chamber, excellent.

Looking off in the direction that they had left, Lexie pulled her pack to her shoulders and began searching for her friends.


	41. Hour 36: 22 Contestants Remaining

Hour 36

22 Contestants Remaining

"I didn't mean for this to happen," she said, snubbing a cigarette out on a table, "I could've avoided it too. I got on early with my friends. I saw Jack on the other bus, I could've gone right with him and I could've probably had some good sex on top of it. But, I had to stick with my friends, I had to stay with you guys, and honestly I don't think I can regret it now. Things would have been lost if I wasn't here, things would be a whole lot worse."

She lit up a cigarette, placing it between her lips as she took a long drag on the acrid smoke.

"The innocents have died though. I wish I could fix that, but they didn't go in vain at least. All in all when this works itself out they'll show that those who died did it for a purpose, they did it to save the rest of us. I mean, in this game you can be good, you can be bad, but in the end it all comes down to the killing, it's just finding the meaning and the purpose in the killing that is the hard part."

She paused, listening as a bolt of lightning crossed the sky and made itself visible through their sparse windows, thunder booming down as if it were right on top of them.

"Then again, killing never does have a meaning, does it? Too many good people have fallen now, but then again that's how it always is. Vietnam, Iraq, hell, even when good old TR took us into Cuba. We find ourselves in wars with no reason other than our own gains, but even those abominations had some level of purpose. We're at war now, but with ourselves. It's these fucking companies, it's our own government, we're fighting ourselves for no real purpose other than for their profit."

She coughed lightly and continued speaking, "Giving up would of course be the right way to go about this, wouldn't it? No, I'll admit I'm as much a fan of civil disobedience as anyone else, but that can't be the way here. Something has to happen, someone needs to step up and do it, and that someone is going to be me. Come hell or high water, I'm going to make a difference here, and I'm going to save these people even if it kills me."

Looking to the ground as she took another puff, she had to sigh. "Mom, dad, you raised me right, but I'm sorry for what wickedness that I have done to get here and the things that I will have to do to get out of here. To Francisco's parents, I only hope you'll find in time a place in your hearts to forgive me. If you cannot do that, I hope at the very least you'll know that he went out with the good guys, he was a hero in life and will be a hero in whatever comes after this. He may have died, but his cause will live on. He may even be a martyr of sorts, and his bravery will be one for the history books."

Anna Rourke, a.k.a. Girl # 7 whirled around with revolver in hand as the door opened behind her. Jenny Reese, a.k.a. Girl # 11 hardly even flinched as her friend drew a gun on her. They'd all become rather used to it by now.

"Are you all right?" Jenny asked, "I thought I heard voices."

"Yeah," Anna said as she nervously shook ash from her cigarette, then stopping the shaking in her hand, "I was just talking to myself. They have microphones in our belts for the television broadcast, so I was figuring while they were listening to me that I might get some thoughts down for posterity."

Jenny looked on with some concern but overall was ambivalent to Anna. She'd seen it, she'd been able to see it for the longest time. Anna was still confident and was still in charge, but overall was beginning to lose it. Still, she had the sense not to let anything else get to Anna and quickly changed the subject.

"We're waiting on the next announcement, we're kickin it in the kitchen if you want to join us."

"Thanks," Anna said with a forced smile, "I'll be right there."

Taking a drag off her cig once more, Anna crushed it out on the floor.

"I may be sorry for the evil that I may have to commit, but I will never be sorry for why I must do it."

Standing up, she exited the room and like any good General, Anna joined the rest of her troops.

* * *

"Hey hey kids it's your old pal, your eye in the sky JJ Squalls with the noon report. Yes, you heard it right, it's noontime even if the sun ain't peekin out any time soon, and we're already halfway down! People and time-wise. Deadline's tomorrow night at midnight before you all blow up like a garbage bag full of vegetable soup tossed from a building, and we all know that none of you want that. So what's the solution? Start racking up the kills, shoot the shit out of each other and give the viewers something good to watch!" 

He opened a can of beer quite audibly, taking a swig as he continued on."

"Now that that's all said and done, let's get down to business. Here's a list of your friends in the order that they died. First up we have Boy # 16, Shane Raynor, lit up like a barbeque and blown away by The Man, Joel Giovanello. Next up is Boy # 7, Jackson Brent who was, well, who was also shot up real good by Joel. That's a lesson for you everyone, those who smoke the weed die, those who don't, kill those who smoke the weed. Don't any of you guys watch scary movies? Anyway, following Jackson is his one and only girl, Girl # 19, Eliza Mann. The girl pussed out, lit herself on fire when she could've gotten an honorable death at the hands of Joel. Either way, she's dead now. And last, but thoroughly not least, there's Boy # 22, Francisco "Frank The Tank" Marquez. Lemme tell ya, this guy went down like a fuckin tank too, they beat him, shot him, knocked him down and he kept coming until, yup, you got it, Joel Giovanello shot him up and took him out."

It could be heard that he was taking a sip of beer as another record began to play, this one an odd mix of surreal synthesizer notes.

"Seeing as how he's pretty much had all the kills in the last six hours, you win yourself a prize! Head on down to the radio tower to collect it, and trust me when I say you won't regret it. Now, for the rest of you, I know it's cold and wet out there so I'm just gonna kick back with a hot meal in here. You kids have fun out there and remember, it's halfway over and there's 22 of you left. This song's by special request from the outside, hope you enjoy..."

He killed the microphone with a loud squeal, just in time to hear Jim Morrison drone on.

"_This is the end_

_Beautiful friend_

_This is the end_

_My only friend, the end_

_Of our elaborate plans, the end_

_Of everything that stands, the end_

_No safety or surprise, the end_

_I'll never look into your eyes...again_

_Can you picture what will be_

_So limitless and free_

_Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand_

_In a...desperate land_

_Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain_

_And all the children are insane_

_All the children are insane_

_Waiting for the summer rain, yeah..."_

* * *

"Awesome, awesome song," Michael Baxter, a.k.a. Boy # 21 mused with another shuffle of the cards. 

"Man, I watched Apocalypse Now while tripping on acid and I'm sayin, that song totally rocks when it's got colors with it," Gus said as he tried to force some MRE through the newly carved mouth hole in his mask. It wasn't enough, so flecks of the freeze-dried food fell to the ground, but he didn't notice. It all tasted the same anyway.

They sat in the meat locker, light coming from their flashlights as they listened to the rain drumming on the roof above them. Doug sat by the computer with his eyes seriously bloodshot and sunken in, fingers cracking as they still went about on the keyboard. His speed and energy was gone, but Doug remained himself. He still kept that inkling of a confident smile, while every so often he'd mouth his greatest of maxims. I am invincible.

Gus and Michael looked bored as they continued along with their seemingly thousandth hand of cards in that day alone, while Jenny was soon to enter the game and continue her winning streak.

"Anna's coming in soon," she interjected, "she's going to tell us what to do I think.

"The news any better than it has been?" Gus asked.

"I don't think so," Jenny responded with a sigh. She'd pinned a lot of hopes on the resistance, on SABRE, and more than anything else, on Anna. Anna was her best friend, hands down. Sure, there was the rest of the Swim Six, but they all had their own deals. Naomi was the badass, Lindsay was the taken one, Sky the sweet one, Lenore the temptress, while Anna led them all. Jenny, well, she was just the oddball. She was the joker, the one who would try out anything. Sushi? Sure, no problem. Fugu? Even better. Bungee jumping? Aside from Anna, Jenny was the only one who went to the carnival who dared to pull it off. But it was all Anna. All the trust, all her confidence, came from Anna.

But, even Jenny knew enough to see that Anna was beginning to unwind. She'd watched the aftermath of the away team's firefight with the wrestlers and had gone off into seclusion for the longest bit. She sighed again. If she couldn't trust Anna, if Anna really wasn't going to be able to carry them and save them all, who would be able to pull it off? The team was dead, they were all dead or going to die...

Well, there was still a miracle worker in their midst. She looked to the boy behind the computer, smiling despite his intensity. He'd pulled plenty of rabbits out of his hat (well, more like information out of the computer, but she saw it enough as magic), and was the only one here who had been working every minute that he could.

"Find anything new?" Jenny asked Doug as she was dealt another hand.

"Everyone's alive," he said, "more or less. Carter and Katherine are in some building in the south, her life functions went off the map for a bit, but she's good now. Looks like they're stopped, maybe she's hurt. Ashley and Paul are headed to the airfield, Lexie's following them by the looks of it, but when they should be headed this way. Cooper's hiding out at the field and I'm betting that she's going to try and pick them off."

"Can we call them?" Jenny asked with legitimate concern.

"Tried that already," Anna commented as she slid in through the gap made by the freezer door, "Francisco had one phone and it's not answering, Carter had the other and it's dead now. We're on our own here. Find anything else Doug?"

"Been tryin to break encryption on these Project Phoenix files, but no such luck there, seems like a dead end," he said.

"Anything on the belts?"

"Not yet," he said, cracking his neck and waving his hands in the air as he stretched quickly, "but fret not, I've found a line of files in here that may be the way, have patience and trust me on this one."

"Patience is something we can't have," Anna said, lighting up another cigarette despite Jenny's friendly glare, "our time is short if you haven't noticed. We're halfway down here, and if we're going to pull off this revolution we're going to do it sooner rather than later."

"Genius takes time Big X," Doug said sarcastically, "if I can't get these belts off of us we're not going to get out of here. We don't have the resources or the people to hurry like we used to. We need to figure out how to get them back, and I think I might be able to get to them if we can figure out-"

"Get the belts off first," Anna said dismissively, "they should be coming back here. If they don't and we can get our belts off before then, we're going to have to pull this off ourselves."

"The five of us?" Gus asked, "The Breakfast Club versus the US Army, dunno how you guys are thinking, but I'm thinking that's fucked."

"Think it's fucked all you like," Anna said, "but we can do it. They were trained to fight in traditional combat, we know these trails, we fight like animals. We use guerilla tactics while they try and go by the book, and believe me when I say that we will be able to take them on. They think that we're soft, they think that we can be herded and threatened, but they haven't seen us backed into a corner, they haven't seen our vengeful side."

"Fair enough," Gus said attempting to appear dismissive, but relying on the mask to help pull it off, "just don't go blaming me when this bites us all in the ass."

"If we all stick together, this won't be biting us in the ass," Anna said enthusiastically.

"But we're turning our back on the others!" Michael interjected, not caring for how Anna seemed to be writing them off already, "You're just saying we should leave them behind while we run off without them, this isn't right! They relied on us, they trust us, we shouldn't leave them to rot!"

Anna stepped forward as Michael got louder and more defensive, "We're not leaving them to rot! I don't know about your definition of rotting, but we're taking away their only chance to live!"

"Are you questioning my dedication to saving us all?" Anna asked flustered, "I want to get everyone out of here, but if we're sacrificing everyone for just a few then it's pointless!"

"You're out of your mind, you know it?" Michael continued, "you've fucking lost it! You want to leave them to die and you say it's pointless to even TRY to save them?"

Sensing that the conversation was going nowhere good (and noticing that the others weren't even going to try to stop it), Doug picked up his crowbar and got between the two feuding members of SABRE.

"We're not leaving them!" Doug hollered, waiting for them to cool down, "as soon as I figure out how to get our belts off I'm going to find a way to try and reverse the microphones in those belts into speakers. If I can do that, which I'm positive I can, we can call them and tell them to get their butts back here."

Watching as they stepped away, Doug continued as he looked to their leader, "We can't be doing this, not anymore. This isn't the Republicans versus the Democrats, where we're in a hole economically or... or we're in another war. This is more crucial than that. This is down to the line, guys, this is down to the line. There can be no more divisions among us!"

There was silence in the room while Doug stared daggers at Anna. Jenny looked on in admiration at the kid as he exuded strength and maybe even confidence for the first time, while Anna did the unthinkable. She backed down.

"Have they reached the airfield yet?" Anna asked resignedly as she took a drag off the cigarette.

Doug sat back down by the laptop, sighing as he typed a few buttons to get the satellite view of the island back.

"Should be in a few minutes," Doug said, "if Marie doesn't kill them, they might make it back all right."

Anna nodded, closing her eyes tightly and opening them, pushing a headache from her vision, "Deal me in next hand Michael?"

"Sure," Michael said, a bit shaken up from the argument, "no problem."

Anna sat down with Jenny, Michael and Gus as Michael started shuffling once more. Doug sat back at the computer, alternating his view between searching the network and a satellite view that would monitor the rest. The routine they had developed in the past few hours continued at the pace that it had created. Cards were shuffled, keys were tapped, and most of the SABRE members found themselves falling back into the complacency that they had known so well.

* * *

"Can you see it?" Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 asked. She looked up into the tree but had to shield her eyes as the rain beat down all around. 

"I think so," Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12 responded from his perch in the branches of a tree, "I can see some white in the tall grass, but that stuff's high, and rain's not making it any better."

"Does it look like anyone else has been there?" Ashley asked.

"Can't see," Paul responded, sliding down the branches and landing with a thud beside his friend, "I saw a good splash of red out there though, I think someone died out there."

"Wanna make a run for it?" Ashley asked, quickly trying to strike up a cigarette but cursing her cheap lighter.

"You game?" Paul asked.

"Need lighter fluid," Ashley said, tossing the useless tool to the side.

Paul smiled, thoroughly loving the scrounging he'd done earlier and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a cheap, disposable lighter and tossed it to the girl.

"You got it," he replied with a wolf-like grin.

Ashley practically squealed with delight as she lit up a cigarette and put it between her lips.

"Paul, I'm gonna say it here and now, but I'm quite positive I love you," Ashley said jokingly as she took a long drag, then straightening up as she tossed the cig aside. She quickly checked her shotgun, both barrels full. Holding the shotgun in her right hand, she braced the police baton she'd stolen the morning before from Peter against her left wrist. Responding in kind, Paul hefted his chainsaw and pulled a grenade from his belt, keeping it in hand for that just in case.

"Let's do this," he said with a cocky grin.

* * *

Lexie followed from a distance as Paul and Ashley cleared the tree line, slogging through ankle high water as the rain beat down all around. It was a long distance to the crate, maybe a hundred yards, even worse in the rain with that tall grass. It'd be a marsh out there, a swamp, god only knows what's out there. Dead bodies, near dead bodies, snakes... Evil things that shouldn't by any rights see the light of day, that's what was hiding in the grass. 

And then there was that tower. It was an imposing building, a near-solid concrete tower with the box-like control room up top. It had several large windows up top, eyes in the sky looking down upon her. They made her shiver deep down to the core. _Eyes in the sky Lexie, that's him, the big guy, the one who sees everything, the one who judges you and sees your heart. He has Sky with him already, wanna join them? It's not that bad, no, pull, bam, blood flies out. Straight through the heart, you'd be dead instantly._

_No, don't, you know better than that. You're stronger than this, you're better than this. You've got a point, you have purpose! Don't let this game stop you from being who you are! I can't, please, just let me do it, just let me go... Are you going to let me go? No, never. Good, then don't you let go of yourself, you're stronger than this, and you're going to make a difference in the world, I know it._

Nearing tears and trying to shake it for what seemed to be the hundredth time this day, Lexie looked back to those eyes. They bore right through her, knowing all of her faults and flaws, her weaknesses, her-

Lexie's thoughts seemed to stop in their tracks as she saw movement behind those eyes. She could see a shadow pass over the light, a small streak of darkness that seemed to change shape and stop. She could see the flash of light before hearing the crack of Marie's rifle, but she'd already started running.

* * *

Marie Cooper, a.k.a. Girl # 21, focused calmly on the scope of her rifle. The weapon had almost become a natural extension of her body, lethal and efficient. 

Well, it would've been if it weren't for the rain. She had a shot cleanly focused on the Mexican's head, (what was it with Mexican's in her field? There's no strawberries here), fired off a shot, and missed by a wide margin. It clanged harmlessly off a piece of the hulking corpse of a long-dead airplane, getting their attention and putting them on guard. That wasn't supposed to happen.

Retracting the bolt, she focused and fired off a second shot, but by then the girl was already moving. She took a small piece from that girls shirt as she howled soundlessly and began running. The boy was behind her, an easier target. She focused another shot, aiming to hit him center mass. It wasn't as pretty or efficient as a head shot, but hitting the heart would be considerably easier.

She could hear a series of pops, one after the other. Ten in a row in total, they'd caught Marie off guard. One shattered a piece of the remaining window by her head, sending shards clinking all around her. Hardly missing a beat, Marie swung her rifle and found the source of the fire. There was another, running towards the other and firing a pistol her way. Another shot whined and lodged into the ceiling above Marie's head, almost causing her to curse. This isn't getting anywhere. If they're firing at you with a pistol they have no chance of actually hitting, but if they're running they're no good. You must take them down, if not to kill, to cripple, so they may be finished off easier.

She turned around calmly and smoothly, lifting the Uzi from her table of guns. Slamming a free clip home, she straightened her arm and took aim.

* * *

"MOVE!" Lexie yelled as Marie opened up with the Uzi. Bullets began raining down around them, spraying water from the ground and whining as they ricocheted loudly off the airplane behind them. Lexie fired several more shots blindly in the direction of the tower, not knowing what, if anything, she hit, but knowing that after a moment's pause, the fire continued. 

She pushed Ashley to the side, finding cover inside the fuselage of the plane, while Lexie followed. She could hear more bullets blasting the outside of their shell, but none of them were going to break through.

"Paul, get cover!" Ashley yelled to her friend. He tried whirling around on his feet to get to the fuselage, but as the line of bullets made their way in front of him, it was no longer an option. Ducking down and managing a quick roll, he braced his back against a loose piece of landing gear and huddled down as much as he could. Bullets pummeled the piece of metal and tattered rubber, some flying within inches of his head.

"Are you all right?" Ashley asked Lexie, to which she nodded.

"Paul, you ok?" Ashley then asked.

Marie unleashed one more barrage of bullets, cutting through the rain and causing him to huddle even closer behind the stray piece of airplane.

"Oh I'm just dandy!" he replied, already beginning to feel uncomfortable from his safe position. He was maybe ten feet away from the girls, they had a shelter that was bulletproof _and_ covered from the rain. But, that gap was no man's land, cross it and die. Yeah Paul, real smart. Made yourself a real good red shirt.

"So what do we do now?" Paul yelled over the rain.

"Wait," Ashley hollered back, "wait for backup or for whoever's up there to run out of ammo, or for them to slip up so we can make a run for it! We'll get out of here! They can't watch us forever!"

* * *

Pulling over a chair and her bottled water, Marie found a comfortable position that offered her a clear view of the plane. She focused the sight of her rifle on the gap between the fuselage and the piece of landing gear, taking a sip of water. If there's a quality any good hunter required, it was patience. 

And, despite the many problems as Marie Cooper had, impatience was not one that she was cursed with.


	42. Hour 37: 22 Contestants Remaining

Hour 37

22 Contestants Remaining

"ATTENTION BOY # 23 GIOVANELLO, JOEL," the loudspeaker squawked by the radio tower, "GO TO THE METAL BOX ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE BUILDING TO COLLECT YOUR PRIZE. IF THIS IS NOT BOY # 23 GIOVANELLO, JOEL, THEN YOUR BELT WILL BE DETONATED WITHIN FIVE SECONDS. HAVE A NICE DAY."

Boy # 13, Mike Vriess, Boy # 11, Bo Adrian, and Girl # 17, CC Collins, watched from a patch of bushes from the tree line as Joel safely entered the danger zone around the radio tower. He disappeared around the side for a moment as per the instructions, leaving them with the off moment of peace.

"Are we sure this isn't just a trap or something?" Bo asked.

"Why's that? They ain't gonna kill us if we stay out of the danger zone," Mike replied.

"I don't mean it like that man," Bo said, closing his eyes as the first sign of a headache kicked in. _Fucking vodka soaked watermelon._

"I mean it like this just smells of a trap to me. If someone was smart, they'd just stick by a place they know other people would be and kill them off, especially the really dangerous ones, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Mike replied, "I follow ya. But see, that's the great thing, we're dangerous people for a reason. They try to attack us, try to take advantage, and we just scrag 'em good."

CC smiled slightly at the confidence of Mike, though taking an equal amount of comfort from the revolver she had tucked into her belt. Joel appeared from around the edge of the building looking less than pleased, holding some small boxes in his hands while with what appeared to be a sword of sorts tucked into his belt.

"Assholes didn't give us anything real," Joel said angrily, "bastards just gave us this pirate sword and some spare ammo, no guns, nothing we can actually kill someone with."

"So what now?" Mike asked.

"Keep heading to the airfield, get the box and get the real good guns so we can fuckin wipe this island clean."

"Joel, I've been thinking..." Bo mentioned.

"What about?" Joel asked in response, holding his shotgun threateningly but willing to hear Bo out.

"I've been thinking that maybe it isn't the best of ideas to be headed to the crate. If someone has made it out there ahead of us they could just be waiting so they can pick us off one at a time, and I dunno if it's the best thing for us to try it out."

Joel mulled it over for a second before waving it off dismissively, "No dice, we're going for it still. If someone's just waiting, we blow them away, end of story. We've got the guns and the numbers, ain't no one gonna mess with us any time soon, so let's get movin."

Bo sighed hesitantly, willing to follow Joel until he was in a situation to get them killed, while Mike and CC just nodded unquestioningly to their leader.

Turning around to adjust her backpack, CC whirled about and promptly screamed. Surprised, the others wheeled around to see what the commotion was about. As it turned out, they were not alone...

* * *

The girl didn't even seem to react to their presence. She just stood in her small grove of apple trees staring at them with nearly vacant eyes beneath bright red hair and her blue headband. She hardly seemed conscious of the rain that poured heavily over her. Her body was almost entirely obscured by a crudely made rain poncho, maybe once a plastic tarp, now flapping around her as her neck stuck through a hole she'd torn.

"It's that girl from the library," Bo commented. The rest seemed to have let down their guard, yet Bo knew enough to still be reasonably scared. If he'd had a gun, he'd have probably used it, but now all he could do was hold his stolen sledgehammer defensively.

"Yeah, well she's still a dead fuck," Joel said as he aimed his shotgun at the girl.

Looking up and over, Mike stared into her eyes. They had lost their emptiness, staring deep into him with an almost pleading look. Pleading, but he could almost swear there was some lust in there too. She'd want him, yeah. Definitely.

"Wait up a second Boss," Mike said, putting his hand on the barrel of the shotgun, "lemme do this one."

Without even giving Joel a moment to speak, Mike began walking on over to the red-haired girl.

"Hey there little red riding hood," Mike said with a wolf-like grin as he sidled up over to the girl, "whatcha doin in our neck of the wood?"

The girl with the blue headband and red pigtails stood still, continuing to look to the ground as the rain fell around her. She smiled, almost bashfully as Mike neared her even more.

"Mike, just shoot the bitch so we can get a move on?" Joel insisted, raising his shotgun a bit more.

"Just hold on a second boss," Mike said dismissively, waving his gun back before pushing it into his belt, "this one don't bite."

He ambled on next to her, close enough to watch the rivers of water cascade down the hastily made poncho as she still remained motionless. She giggled slightly as her cheeks flushed red, while Mike began to move in for the kill.

"Need protection library girl?" Mike whispered into her ear, rubbing his hands up her exposed arm, "We can help you, we've got guns and sharp things, we can make you feel real safe."

The redhead giggled again, looking into Mike's face with innocent eyes. Mike smiled back, pressing himself against her as she began to give to his pressure.

"Big V, just cut the shit," Joel said again, pumping his shotgun and leveling it to her chest.

Mike turned away from the girl to plead with his boss, stepping in front of the girl for protection, "Come on boss, she ain't bitin!"

He paused with an evil grin as he looked back to the girl's face, "Well, not yet at least..."

In one swift movement, she swung the butt of her AK-47 around on its sling out from underneath her poncho, slamming it into Mike's nose with a loud crack and a spray of blood. Grabbing the barrel, she swung the rifle and cracked the boy to his knees in horrific agony. By the time the others realized what happened and had guns at the ready, the attacker had the barrel of her AK-47 buried against Mike's spine.

"Drop it bitch or so help me God I will fucking drop you!" Joel yelled as he braced the shotgun against his shoulder. The girl calmly stepped behind Mike, nudging him to stand with her foot pressed against his testicles. Mike wanted to fight back, but the excruciating pain in his face and the blood he began to inhale muted any strength he may have had. He stood up, blocking her with his body.

"God? God has no place for you," she said with clear spite in her voice, "so don't insult us all by bringing Him into the equation."

"Well good for fuckin you," Joel replied, "let Mike go and maybe we'll look the other way and let you on your way."

The girl stifled a laugh as she pressed the barrel even more into Mike's back, causing him to wince. She couldn't help but coo softly as he made his pain visible, but did her best to keep focused back on the task at hand.

"If that is what you call negotiation," she continued, "then it surprises me you even had the fortitude to graduate. I am the one possessing the collateral at the moment; if you would like your friend to be set free, I need you to abide by my terms. Lay down your weapons and put your hands in the air, and he will be with you."

Joel looked into Mike's pleading, albeit swollen from beating, eyes. He was afraid, something Joel, nor anyone at Braiwood High School, had ever seen. Mike V., Big V, the guy who would try anything if the opportunity came up, was afraid.

"Joel," Bo pleaded as he set down his sledgehammer, "let's do it man, this is Big V!"

Joel looked to CC and could only see her vacant, frightened eyes. She didn't know what to do and was shivering uncontrollably. Looking at Mike's face, Joel sensed his genuine anxiety. He shivered from a combination of fear and cold from the rain, but more than anything he was tired. They didn't belong here, they belonged in a puddle of their own vomit and used condoms like Grad Nite was supposed to end.

"Boss... help me," Mike whispered.

Joel paused, letting the sight of his shotgun drop for a moment. Straightening it out once more, he responded, "Fuck it."

He blasted Mike square in the chest, the pellets and gore flying out the back and hitting his attacker square in the chest. Her crude poncho was torn to shreds, but the bulletproof vest did its job as she opened up with the AK-47, shooting through Mike's torso at the remaining members of the wrestling party. They scattered as bullets flew through the air, while she continued firing on fully automatic through the body of the wrestler. As his remains fell to the floor, her hail of bullets blew away most of Mike's head from the nose up in a slew of bone and gore, effectively taking him out of the running as winner of the Battle Royale. She cooed energetically, almost orgasmically as the last pieces of his skull hit the ground, then opening up more thoroughly on Joel, Bo and CC.

Bo ducked behind a tree stump with Joel and CC behind a tree opposite him. CC pulled out her revolver, but with her hands shaking so horribly she couldn't help but drop it. Joel looked on with disgust, but didn't have time to register it much as he blasted once more with the shotgun in the direction of the library girl. She raked the grove with bullets, blowing away branches, leaves, bark and apples every which way, calmly and methodically firing away at the wrestling team as they disappeared under cover.

And then she stopped.

The three remaining members of the wrestler's party sat huddled behind their cover as they just listened to the rain. Bo looked around hesitantly, finding neither hide nor hair of the library girl. Mike's body lay in a gory heap where she once stood, but nothing more than wind and rain made its presence known.

"She's gone man," Bo whispered to Joel, stepping out a bit further.

"Get the fuck down!" Joel said as he waved towards Bo with hostility, "This one ain't dumb. She's out there, she's out there and she's looking for us so stay the fuck down if you want to stay in one piece."

"Joel..." CC said with fear as she looked into her boyfriend's eyes. She tried to hold onto his arm, get close for some warmth, but he pushed her away. Joel looked down with even more disgust, stepping out slightly into the grove and looking to find that red-haired bitch. _She's out there, fucking bitch fucking shot Big V to shit. She's out there, you can find her and you can kill her, BAM, just blast her in the chest and kill her quick. Maybe take it slow though, yeah, she deserves it slow, take her gun away, blast her in the knee. Blast her in the knees and just work on her for a bit with the fists, maybe Bo's hammer. Yeah, just take it slow and then BAM BAM, put the gun to her throat and cut her fucking head off with the shotgun. Aww yeah, that's what she deserved all right._

"Bo, you're with me," Joel said as he waved to his friend. The two men stepped a bit more into the clearing, keeping in the shrubs yet taking defensive positions. Joel held his shotgun high, ready to kill anything that moved, while Bo had his sledgehammer like he was ready to hit a grand slam.

"Joel!" CC pleaded even louder from behind her tree.

Joel ducked down by Mike's remains, grabbing his pistol and putting it in his pocket.

"Just stay the fuck back there CC! Stay the fuck back or so help me god I will make you!" he yelled back, getting only her scream in response. She screamed loudly and long in a continuous wail, getting both men to run back behind her tree. Bo almost vomited and even Joel was affected as they witnessed the pitiful wreck of CC. Library girl only had time to slash twice before running off, but that was more than she needed. The first completely severed CC's left leg above the knee, arterial blood spurting out with the intervals of her heartbeat. The other slash opened up her belly in a vertical curve, spilling her intestines and nearly cleaving her left breast in half. CC waved pitifully as she tried to pull herself together, wailing incoherently as blood began to flow from her mouth.

"IIIIIIIIIIT HUUUURTS!" she shrieked, "PLEEEEEZ JOOOOEL!"

Joel looked down to the remains of his girlfriend and knew that there were feelings building up in the back of his mind. She was a good fuck, nice ass, sweet titties... and he'd never get to feel them again. _God damn it!_

"HEEEEEELP!" she cried out as tears ran down her face, strength draining from her body as her blood poured out.

Joel leveled his shotgun at her head, pumping the slide and readying it to fire again. One shot would end it all... and yet it was still a waste of ammo. He knelt down beside her as she began to shudder from the shock of it all, picking up the revolver she had dropped and putting it in his belt. Stepping away from his dying girlfriend, Joel spoke to his remaining friend.

"Bo, we're it man..." Joel said resignedly, "we're it. We've got to kill this bitch and just conquer, this is gonna be rough man."

Looking over his shoulder to his friend, Joel could just catch the back of Bo's squat frame running away. "What the..."

* * *

The death, the dying, and Joel's loss of what little sanity he still maintained were enough to knock sense into Bo. He could've killed Joel easily, one conk across the back of the head and he would've just dropped to the floor. However, without Joel around, library girl would probably just kill him like she'd killed the others. Just fucking run, find those guys with the orange bandanas and get the hell off this island.

He ran like a madman with his sledgehammer held high and backpack bouncing against his back. It was then that a shotgun blast blew away a good chunk of the tree to his right.

* * *

"Just run! Run you fucking lunatic!" Joel screamed into the forest as he fired two more shots in Bo's direction. _Fucking faggot just ran off when things got tough, when things get tough is when you're supposed to stick together! You're supposed to be friends to the end getting each other's backs and making sure that we conquer! This isn't fucking supposed to happen!_

He tried to fire another blast from his shotgun, hearing it click empty. _Dammit, already emptied it out? That was too fast, can't waste ammo like that._

He reached for some shells in his bandoleer, then stumbled slightly as he could hear her running behind him. She's circling me, frigid little bitch, can't even show her fucking face.

"Show yourself!" Joel yelled, pulling both the pistols from his belt and holding one in each hand. He fired several shots blindly, waiting to hear a noise and then firing a few more in that direction. He caught a blur of green and the sound of her footsteps crashing through the underbrush, firing several shots in her direction.

As the revolver clicked empty, Joel tossed it to the side, opening up with the Beretta. He paused again with arm rigid, listening and watching for anything. _Come on bitch, show yourself, come on, show that little red bush of yours so I can blow it right off. Come on bitch..._

Another flash of green as she ran between two trees no more than twenty feet in front of Joel caused him to fire, catching her square in the chest and knocking her to the ground. She gasped loudly before settling once more on the ground with a shudder.

Joel approached the prone girl cautiously, holding the pistol in both hands. _She's dead? Looks fucking dead. She wasted them though, took out Big V and CC like they were nothing. _Straightening his arms, he fired two more shots into her torso as she lay on the ground, rolling her into the base of another tree.

He approached her, looking to the corpse with a bit of a smile.

"I got you bitch," Joel said with a cocky smile as he sidled on over to her, "I got you. You thought you got me, you got my friends, but in the end I got you! YOU FUCK! What'd you think you were gonna do, huh bitch? You thought you were going to kill me? I'm not fucking gonna die! I am the man!"

He kicked her once in the ribs, "That's right, I am the fucking man!"

Her eyes shot open, surprising Joel more than he ever thought he could be.

"No," he muttered out as he took one step backwards, "I killed you!"

Quickly he tried to fire a shot, only getting an empty click from his pistol. _Shit._ With a calm expression on her face, the librarian's aid simply stared into Joel's eyes, her steel blue's staring right through and almost hypnotizing the jaded wrestler. He hardly reacted as she swung the curved edge of her scythe, slicing a thin line across his shin. As the skin and flesh tore with blood oozing out, Joel shrieked in pain and got back into reality. She groaned pleasurably as Joel's face wracked with pain. In a fluid movement, she swung her legs around and stood up, her tattered poncho flowing around her almost as if it were a cape. She swung out with the blade twice more, both times dodged by the wrestler as he regained his agility.

Looking for a means of defense, Joel pulled out the rapier he'd been awarded from its sheath, holding one in each hand as a means of defense. He swung the sword out clumsily, aiming to slash his attacker's throat. She deftly ducked below, swinging the scythe out horizontally as Joel jumped back, the blade only slicing into his shirt. At that, Joel swung the sheath overhand, connecting with the girls shoulder as she let out a wince of pain. In pain and feeling quite spiteful at the moment, she swung the scythe overhead in an effort to eviscerate Joel from the throat on down, only locking with Joel's weapons as he crossed the sword and sheath into an X. The pair stayed with their weapons locked in combat, pressing against each other in an effort to knock the other down.

Joel panted, surprised at the strength of this tiny little girl. _This wasn't right, chicks're supposed to just give up like this. _She was giving in though, slowly, an inch at a time as he pressed more against her. She was showing it too, her face straining, mouth curving into an appearance of worry more than her calm features had been earlier. She was scared, she was going to die, and Joel was going to be the one to do it.

"I've got you bitch," Joel whispered with a smile.

Her face turned back to one of calm resignation, looking deeply into Joel's eyes as she began to read him. After a moment's peace, she smiled a surprisingly serene smile and quickly let go of the scythe, sending the weapon harmlessly into the dirt beside them as Joel's weapons swung apart from each other. She fell to the ground, bracing her back against it as she spun one leg up and landed it firmly in Joel's balls. He howled out in pain, dropping to his knees as his vision went white.

In a deft movement, she curled her back and quickly jumped to her feet as she grabbed her scythe and swung it shallowly. It cut across Joel's knuckles, not damaging anything, but enough to put him in enough agony to clear the weapons from his hands. He curled up on the ground, cupping his ruined genitalia and nursing his wounded hands as the girl methodically began to kick him in the ribs and legs, toying with him as a cat would toy with a mouse.

"He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty," she recited as she looked to the sky and delivered a powerful blow to his kidneys, "and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."

She looked down on the beaten man with a combination of pity and disgust. She placed the blade of her scythe against his throat, ready to just run it across and end his life. A glint caught her eye and caused her to pause with a gasp. Could it be?

The redhead kept the blade against his throat, but if Joel had been able to look up at her, he would've noticed the change in her demeanor.

"I had followed you for a while, you and your troupe of the damned, watched your deeds as you cut through this game much like the weapon I am pressing against your Adams apple. I've known since the moment I spied you that you were the strong ones, but I've seen enough of you in the world to know that I should do nothing but kill you now. You and your associates are not even worthy of the title of trash, you're criminals and denizens of sin of the highest order. I was all too glad to make this land for the better by killing your whore and that rapist, but know that I would have done the same for the fool and that woman who beds women as well. But in this game, you were the greatest of the great, but it was your pride that held you back. You considered yourself invincible, a god among men when you are as pitiful as any of the rest of the souls imprisoned on this island."

Looking up spitefully, Joel spit on her hand, "Fuck you."

The girl hardly flinched, letting Joel's blood and saliva run down her hand as she kept the curved blade pressed against his skin.

"I am holding a very sharp weapon against your throat," she continued, "and you don't even allow me to finish what I am saying. Speak up once more before I allow you to and I will murder you. Besides, I think you will want to hear what I have to say since it will give you opportunity to walk away from here. Nod if you understand."

Minding the blade against his throat, Joel looked conflicted before giving a muted nod.

"Good," she continued, looking down at the wounded wrestler, "I have witnessed your actions in this game and in our high school, and written them off as nothing more than the acts of a common criminal. I thought you were without purpose within His plan and were merely acting out in an effort to prove your dominance and gain esteem. You deserved to die along with the rest..."

She rotated her scythe quickly, hooking its tip around the edge of the golden cross that Joel had worn around his neck, the one he had stolen off of Francisco's corpse.

"You wear His sign, and I now realize that you and I are along a similar path with our involvement in this contest. We are the instruments of God, you and I, the male and female compatible, both of strong will and skills that make us uniquely powerful when compared to the rest of those who take part here."

Joel looked up bewildered but knew enough to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Together we are more powerful as His instruments than either of us could have been alone, so for you and you alone I would like to make a proposition..."

She paused, withdrawing the scythe from Joel's throat and moving it to the side.

"Join me, and we will be an alliance in His service like no other could succeed. I will not begrudge you of your lethality, nor will I take your life to protect my own because of it. I have seen you enough to know that you can be a duplicitous individual, but only in regards to those who are inferior to you. As I am your equal, you will give me opportunity that they never had."

Joel looked up with a sense of understanding and confusion, but was nevertheless glad to have grabbed the cross from Francisco when he did. Piece of cheap gold and silver saved his life...

"So, you have a choice. Join me and we will rain fire down upon the evil's of this contest, or say no and allow me to slit your throat and invalidate all that I have taken time to say here."

As she dropped into silence, Joel took a long time to respond. He stared into her eyes, watching and listening to the howling of the wind and the pounding of the rain as it came down through the trees. He could fake his way out of this situation easily, say yes and then shoot the bitch as soon as he had the chance, but the funny thing about it... she had a point. She would be a good gun to keep around, she seemed loyal, even if she's a bit insane, but loyal enough if you can fake the God thing. She'd be a good ally all right, fucking nuts, but a good ally. She believed in that cross so much...

"I'm in," Joel said with genuine sincerity.

She withdrew the blade from his side and sheathed it back up, rotating it back into her pack. With her gun still drawn, the redhead let out a hand and helped Joel back to his feet.

"Then we are to make a good name for the righteous," she said before going down to Mike's remains and pulling out his spare clips. She tossed them to Joel, to which he feebly caught them. As well, the redhead pulled Mike's chain blade from his pocket, looping it through her own belt.

"Take all the available ammunition, food and water that you can carry. There is much work to be done," she said as she filled her bag with extra MRE's and bottled water.

"So, library girl," Joel mentioned, "What's your name?"

She looked on with contempt, then speaking to her new partner, "My designation here is as Girl # 2, my given name is Katherine Kin Snyder, but you may call me Katie."

She held out her hand to offer a shake on the birth of this new pairing, and ambling on over, Joel met his hand with hers, creating what was ironically the most unholy alliance Battle Royale ever could have imagined.


	43. Hour 38: 20 Contestants Remaining

Hour 38

20 Contestants Remaining

She woke up slowly, conscious only of the warmth that surrounded her. As her eyes drift open and consciousness surrounded her, she could hear and feel everything. It was raining, almost pounding... but she was dry. Wind was howling, but she couldn't feel it against her skin. Her skin... was dry. She remembered the water and the cold sapping the life from her body, her lungs had filled with fluid. She was dead, wasn't she?

Warmth, that was right... It was warm, downright toasty if she'd ever felt it before. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see that there was indeed light. She was next to, what was that, could it be? A campfire?

As the haze left her eyes she could see that she was indeed camped out by a small campfire that was crackling and popping. She was wrapped in several aged and tattered blankets, the old fabric rubbing and scratching slightly up against her skin. It itched, but given how she'd felt before, this was rather comfortable. She ran her hands up and down her body, finding that she possessed only that oppressive metal belt, her undergarments and the blankets that she was swaddled in, nothing more. Wait, no clothes... No, it can't be. It can't happen, not again. It ruined me for life the first time, not my innocence, but my life, my soul, it broke me. Not again, not ever...

A crack of thunder jolted her even moreso into reality. No, there was no pain, not there, it didn't happen. Thank you God, thank you God, I've thanked you before and never meant it but I think I mean it now. She was awake, definitely, but how? She wasn't here, she'd seen white, there was peace, she saw him. Francisco, he was dead.

Looking up, she could see her clothes. Whoever had started the fire also strung her clothes up on a line above the flames, heating them up or drying them out as things seemed. Yes, makes sense. You fell into the ocean, couldn't breath, couldn't fight, yeah, it's making more sense now. He'd dragged you from the sea, brought you here and made you better. He left you, some hero.

She reached up, pulling her shirt from the line and experimentally over her body. She winced as the ache wracked through her body. You fall off a cliff it can't feel good, but this was a combination of pain and sheer exhaustion. The pain however was definitely a good sign. So long as you're feeling, you're alive, and if you're alive, well, that's what really matters here. Life and death, funny little game that is.

Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4, whirled around on her feet as she heard a voice. Not alone. Could it be her savior, the hero who pulled her from the sea? Maybe, if he saved her he wouldn't go far, right? Don't turtles abandon their nests though? What's to say this guy isn't any different? (damn it, this is not time for frickin biology class flashbacks) She couldn't distinguish the words, but knew enough to be on guard. With vision still blurred slightly, she groped about on the floor until she found a suitable piece of metal piping conveniently placed within her reach. She held it up cautiously as the voice approached.

"...well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked," the voice sang softly to itself, "the way she acted, the color of her hair, her voice is soft and cool, her eyes are clear and bright, she's not there..."

As the voice's shape approached her from a doorway, it stopped in its tracks. She couldn't see it all that well, but she could hear as the figure dropped a large amount of wood.

"Katherine!" Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, exclaimed.

He rushed over to her side, pulling one of the blankets at her feet up and around her shoulders. He gently motioned for her to get closer to the fire.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Don't you remember?" Carter replied, pushing her slightly by the shoulder to get next to the warmth.

She knelt down closer to the fire at his insistence, continuing, "A little bit, but it's a bit hazy."

"We were attacked," Carter said, trying to form the words so they would disturb her the least, "Joel, Mike, some others. They started shooting all over the place, a tree fell down so we all scattered. We ran off with Francisco, but he wasn't fast enough, so they shot him. He stayed behind, fought them off for a bit, but they killed him. When they came after us, we jumped into the sea, you lost consciousness, so I brought you here."

"Where's here?" she asked.

"According to your map and what I can see in here," Carter added as he waved his hand around the room, "this would be the laundry building. Can't you see the washers and driers?"

He motioned to the rows of washers and driers that they happened to be located between, but they were far enough away to warrant Katherine shaking her head.

"Sorry, glasses," Katherine said with a bit of a wry smile, "I think I lost them when we jumped."

"Probably," Carter said, "I lost my pack and weapon when we fell, but this building's still good. It's solid, it's dry, and it's out of the way of most of the main roads enough that I don't think we'll have to worry about interruption anytime soon. You need to gain your strength anyway, you were pretty poor off."

Katherine looked to her body, stretching her limbs experimentally and exploring the ache that ran through her. So you did jump off a cliff, all right, now this is making a lot more sense. Still a bit confused at how and why her clothes were missing, she looked up inquisitively.

"Is that why... why I'm like this?" she asked.

"Well... you were hypothermic," Carter explained, dragging some pieces of wood from the supply he'd dropped across the concrete floor, tossing them into the fire, "you nearly drowned after we jumped, and the water was cold. I did my best to bring you back and warm you up. Core temperature's a pain to raise, your clothes were soaking wet and doing you no good, so I hung them up to dry. Fire and blankets seemed to have worked though."

She smiled, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Carter said, then attempting a joke, "I've read the fastest way to raise core temperature was through direct contact with another bodies heat, but for your modesty and my own, I remained the perfect gentleman."

She giggled, looking into his eyes warmly as he smiled back. He let his eyes drift away, sighing.

"I thought I lost you there for a while," Carter said as he toyed around with the fire using a table leg, then pushing it all the way in, "you were so cold, and you'd swallowed too much water. You weren't breathing, and your heart didn't beat. I just, thought I lost you."

Katherine looked to the floor hesitantly, not knowing how to fully respond in a situation like this. This was the second time he'd saved her life, and just like the first she didn't know how to react. Before they jumped, he told her he loved her. He always had. This is Carter James, come on, you've known him just as long as you've known anyone else. He's loved you... and you've just looked to him out of the corner of your eye and gave him an occasional smile. Here he is, just pouring his heart out.

"But you brought me back?" she asked with a hint of a smile.

"I did my best," he replied, returning the smile, "it wasn't easy, but I think the world is much better off for you having survived."

"The world," she said looking to the floor, then looking into his eyes, "or you?"

Caught off guard, Carter couldn't match her gaze as he looked to the ground, "I'd say both, yeah. I certainly enjoy the company and there's a lot the world can gain from you I'm sure."

"That wasn't what I was asking," Katherine continued, trying to lock eyes with Carter but failing, "before we jumped you said that you loved me. You said that you've loved me for as long as you could remember. We go back pretty far, I thought there might be more to it."

Carter looked off silently, trying to figure out what to say but lost in his own mind. God damn it, you've been waiting for this for all your life, why can't you just get it out now?

"I almost forgot," Carter said as he changed the subject, getting up from the floor and going over to Katherine's pack, "we lost a lot in the fall, but I found these extra in your pack, thought you might need them."

He handed her a small black case from her backpack, which she opened with an even wider smile. Extra glasses. She wasn't too big a fan of being nearsighted, but when all was said and done she'd preferred glasses over contact lenses any day. Besides, it allowed her to have some sense of style, even if it was in the "hot librarian" sense. She unfolded the glasses, putting them on as the room suddenly became clear. She could see his face, see the genuine confusion that crossed him as he looked down at her.

"Carter James," she mused, "always looking out for me."

"I do my best," he replied nervously.

She sat looking up at him for a moment longer, neither speaking as they listened to the rain come down all around. It had gone in even harder, giving each more reason to be glad they were inside.

"Come," Katherine said with a beckoning hand, "sit by me. There's more blankets around, and you're shivering too."

"I'm not cold," Carter lied as he knelt down by the fire.

"Maybe not," Katherine said, "but you're still shivering. Humor me and get into these blankets with me."

Carter hesitantly joined her, pulling Katherine's gun from his belt and setting it down on the floor. He pulled an extra blanket over his shoulders, sitting close to Katherine as they warmed themselves by the fire. She sidled over closer, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He shuddered, a bit frightened and unsure of himself. You'd professed your love for her before jumping, saving your lives. You brought her back to life, just say it! Say it you fool!

"How long have we known each other Carter? Third grade?" Katherine asked, interrupting Carter's thoughts.

"Longer," Carter replied as he thought back to the more innocent times warmly, "Mrs. Van Ryan's class back in pre-school."

"Really?" she asked, "I didn't think it was that long."

"Yeah, it's been a while," Carter said, beginning to open up as he realized it was a time where he had nothing to lose, "I remember when I first saw you, you leave a pretty good impression."

"Yeah?" Katherine replied with a smile, pushing a lock of hair from her eyes.

"Yeah," Carter responded, "you'd just moved here, you were the new kid, and when Mrs. Van Ryan introduced you to everyone I'd thought I saw an angel. I see this beautiful being that I never thought possible and I just don't know what it is I'm feeling, it was crazy."

"So you had a crush on me..." Katherine said, trailing off as she looked up to Carter.

"Had, have, probably always will have," Carter admitted, "I've never been able to take my eyes off of you, and you've always been so nice to me, and, yeah, I don't really know what I'm saying or doing. This is all kind of new to me and I don't know if I'm coming off like a complete and total idiot to you."

"You're not an idiot," Katherine said adamantly, "this, this... this is new to me too. I've known you for a long time, but we never exchanged more than a few words in a hallway, but you've always been there for me. You've always had a kind word, you saved me from Jeremy, you saved me from this game, and, I just don't know what to say."

Looking to her sheepishly, Carter added, "I love you Katherine."

With her heart beating heavily, Katherine looked at the floor for a moment before responding, "I know. This is just something I never expected. I mean, when everything goes bad you're always there for me, but, what now?"

She took off her glasses, rubbing her temples and looking to the ceiling as she felt the pain in her body increase. That's definitely going to be sore for a while...

"What do we do now?" she asked idly once more.

Carter turned his head, looking to the woman and into her eyes. He ran a hand over her cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin under his fingertips. She brought her hand over his, holding it there and enjoying the warmth. Leaning in close, she parted her lips slightly as she kissed Carter.

They locked together, rolling lips over each others and just melding as the two became one. Carter had been worried about how to pull it off, never been kissed, never kissed a girl before, and god if you have a chance to screw it up, please don't let it be with Katherine, please don't be now. He just went on instinct, hoping it was right more than he'd hoped for anything before.

Parting her lips slightly, Katherine just lost herself in the moment. She'd kissed before, thinking she was in love but realizing that it wasn't love like this was. Jeremy was rough and self serving, forcing his tongue into her almost. Carter... he was tender, soft and loving. He fumbled slightly, but she didn't give it much heed. This was pure, this was real, her heart pounded like never before. Is this love? You've only known this for a few minutes, how can it be love? It can't be love, can it? You've known him most of your life though. He was always so kind, so sweet, how could you never see it before? You let the extra pounds get to you?

Carter wrapped his arms around her, beginning to lose himself in the moment. The rain, the wind, the crackling of the fire, even the laundry building itself, it was all perfect and all unbelievably peaceful...

Katherine was the first to separate the sounds from the background. There was something new, something foreign that wasn't supposed to be. It was a rattling, metal, wood, mechanical. The door...

She opened her eyes and separated from Carter, pulling her glasses back on as she looked to the door. Carter had secured it well, bracing a heavy chair underneath the doorknob, but someone, something, on the other side was rather strong. The knob was rotating slightly, the door inching open slightly as it strained against the chair.

"What's wrong?" Carter asked.

"Someone's at the door," Katherine said, getting to her feet and retrieving her revolver from the floor. She checked it, still only two shots. Damn.

Looking to the door, Carter caught the same sight and opened his eyes wide. This was supposed to be a safe place damn it, why now? Damn it, we were safe here, just go away! Yeah, try telling them that... He looked to the supplies he'd collected and hefted a two foot long metal pipe, holding it over his shoulder like a baseball bat.

"We can run out the back if you want," Carter mentioned, "there's a way out, we can escape."

"No," Katherine said as she held her gun high, "we've done our running. I've run from the bad guys enough and right now it's the best chance we've got to just stop them. I can get them. If someone wants to come in, let's let them in."

Carter looked skeptically to Katherine, but given the fact that she currently held the gun, he wasn't one to argue. She cocked the hammer loudly, holding the gun defensively as she aimed it towards center mass on the door. She motioned her head to the side, intimating for Carter to open the door.

He inched forward, holding the pipe and pulling aside the chair he'd used to brace it. Please be good, or if not, please die quickly.

Pulling the chair to the side, Carter watched the door open and gasped.


	44. Hour 39: 20 Contestants Remaining

Hour 39

20 Contestants Remaining

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T SHOOT!" the figure yelled as the door swung open. He stumbled about, catching his hand on the wall as he tried to regain balance. He fell to the floor feebly on his back, looking up through bruised and swollen eyes. His chest was a mess of blood and mud, his body seemingly broken in every conceivable matter. Although it was visible that he carried a rifle and a pistol on his person, he had neither ready for battle.

He breathed shallowly, arms weakly propping his body up as he looked to Carter and Katherine with wild, albeit tired eyes.

"Who's that?" Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, asked, approaching the figure yet not letting down the piece of pipe he held.

"Do I really look that bad?" the mangled boy on the floor asked. He rubbed his jaw with a free hand, feeling one tooth loosen and send pain through his skull.

"Yeah," Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4, responded, "you look pretty bad."

The figure on the floor let out a wheezing laugh as he leaned his head back. Perfect, just perfect, next they'll light you on fire and make this a day.

"Carter, Katherine, come on, it's me, Matt. Matt Hunter, crazy skater guy, Boy Number Fifteen, ya know?" Matt replied with a crooked yet pained grin.

Carter looked through the grime and could see the rather distinct eyes. It was Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15, all right. He was one of those guys that people tended to either love or hate, his easygoing and amiable nature not always meshing with the power core of the Braiwood High senior class. Carter and Katherine however were in the category of people who liked him, while Carter would even go so far as to call him a friend. Matt was just a good guy, stronger in spirit than most anyone would bet, more intelligent than he would ever let on, and a loyal spirit if there ever was one. He would give you the shirt off his back if you wanted it, which allowed Carter to not give second thought upon trusting him as he shambled through the door. Heck, he even trusted Matt more than some of the other people in SABRE, easily...

"Jesus, Matt," Carter said, dropping the pipe as he went to help a friend, "what happened to you? Are you all right?"

Carter helped Matt to his feet, dragging the boy down by the fire as he stumbled to keep standing. Katherine brought an arm under his shoulders to help carry the weight, yet Matt felt as if he weighed a ton. _Dead weight._

"A lot," Matt replied, "hit by an arrow and a flare gun, attacked by a girl with a scythe, got my chest slashed by a monster, got beaten up by a girl I really like, and got hit in the fucking shoulder by a golf ball, so, yeah, aside from you guys trying to kill me my day's just been PEACHY!"

Matt let out in a sputtering of coughs, collapsing back on the floor by the fire as he tried to get some warmth.

"I just woke up a little while ago in the pouring rain with everything hurting, please forgive me for not being in the best mood," Matt replied with another cough. He shivered, rolling up into a ball by the flames and desperately trying to absorb whatever warmth he could.

"Katherine," Carter requested, "could you get me another chair from in back? There's a few left, we need to keep this fire burning and burning hot."

Katherine nodded, making her way towards the back room before realizing (with quite a bit of blush for that matter), that she was missing something. She quickly skipped over to the clothesline, grasping free her jeans and then pulling them over her legs as she scampered back into the rear of the laundry building.

"How long were you out?" Carter asked, balling up a blanket and placing it behind Matt's head as he lay down on the floor.

"I don't know," he replied with a cough, "a while. Lexie, I saw Lexie running through the forest. She'd fought Big V, kicked the crap out of him and then ran off, I tried to help her, she beat my face in."

Matt went off into a sputtering cough as he looked wearily to the ceiling, "The things we do for love my man, I tell ya. Probably have pneumonia to boot."

Confused for a moment, Carter took time to digest Matt's previous remark. Not really wanting to think too much about it yet, Carter pulled a blanket over Matt's legs and torso, in the process looking at the hastily arranged bungee cord and cloth. Pulling it gently to the side, Carter could see a mess of blood and flesh that didn't have the greatest smell in the world to it.

"We should really stitch this up," Carter mentioned, making Matt wince as he replaced the hastily arranged bandages.

"I'd have done it myself," Matt replied with a hoarse laugh, "but I left my sewing kit in the breakfast nook and you know how hard it is to find once you've left for brunch."

Carter tried to crack a smile, even though the severity of the injury wasn't all that hard to gauge.

"Sarcasm isn't helping you too much right now," Carter said as Katherine brought in an old wooden chair from the back room. It was pouring rain outside, but he had to marvel at how solid the laundry building was. The roof had no leaks, everything inside was dry, and when all was said and done, it kept enough furniture dry to make a damn good campfire when it was all broken down.

"We need to clear out that cut at the very least, it's pretty deep and it's got some grime in it," Carter said as he pulled the hastily made bandages to the side once more, "Jesus..."

"What?" Matt asked.

Carter tried not to appear disgusted, but wasn't able to completely convey as much calm as he'd have liked.

"The slash..." he said as Katherine came to look over his shoulder and gasped, "it's extensive."

"Yeah, I know that," Matt said with a bit of anger, "how bad?"

"If we can find some thread and a needle in here we may be able to-"

"How fucking bad is it?" Matt asked angrily.

"There's parts where I can see your ribs," Carter said hesitantly, "it smells a bit sour which means it's probably septic, and your right nipple is all but missing."

Matt groaned as he listened to the prognosis, leaning back into his pillow with another smattering of coughs.

"Fucking great man," he said, "I've been up and around here looking for one person, could've spent my time with Jackson and Eliza, getting stoned and be completely safe, but I had to come out here and save Lexie. Some night in shining armor I am."

Matt closed his eyes, in more pain than he could have imagined possible and really wishing he could sleep. More than anything, sleep called to him, beckoned him, wanted to envelope him. He was bad off, hadn't slept for a while and was injured beyond the point where he should be living with no real reason_. No, no, can't say that. She's still out there. You may have pained yourself for her, you may have been attacked by her, but you still love her. She has to know that at the very least, it doesn't even matter what she thinks back, so long as she knows you love her, then everything will be all right._

"Is she still alive?" Matt mused as consciousness began to leave him.

"Who?" Carter asked.

"Lexie," Matt replied with a violent cough.

"She wasn't in the last announcement," Katherine said, "she was with us for a while but we lost her after a gunfight. She should have gone back to the mess hall with the rest of them."

"Rest of them?" Matt asked through squinted eyes.

"We have a group of people," Katherine said, "we have a plan for beating this thing. Lexie was with us, Anna, Doug, Paul, Gus and a bunch of others too."

"Plan?" Matt asked.

"We'll talk about it later," Carter mentioned, placing a hand on Matt's shoulder, "right now we need to clean you up and you need to get some rest. Katherine and I will take care of you if you'll let us."

Matt laughed wryly, "Do I have a choice?"

Katherine smiled her sweet yet mischievous smile, "Not really, no."

"Then I'll just take doctor's orders," Matt replied, closing his eyes as he arched his back against the floor, "I'm just going to rest here for a while, let you guys do what you have to do. Just sit here a while, see what happens..."

* * *

To say that Girl # 5, Ashley Vasquez, and Girl # 20, Lexie Hawk, were having a hard time would be putting the situation rather lightly. They had been pinned down by the sniper since just after noon. Already it was 3:15, and their situation hadn't improved. Every attempt to move outside the hulking wreck of the crashed airplane they'd been trapped in led to another well placed shot from the snipers rifle, or if they were unlucky, a barrage from their Uzi. Luckily, the cover of the plane was enough to save Lexie and Ashley from both their tormentor and the weather. 

Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12's, situation was considerably less comfortable. When the sniper descended upon them, he had few options and wound up hiding behind a piece of the plane's downed landing gear in an otherwise clear section of grass. It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the rain, but as it was, Paul was getting poured down upon and was hating it rather fiercely. Top that off with the fact that any movement beyond the wheel would result in a potentially fatal gunshot (he'd moved his head an inch in the wrong direction and lost the tip of his earlobe, not cool), and he was miserable to say the least.

"Come on, angle it back down a bit more," Ashley said as she positioned the bar against the edge of the door. Lexie shifted her weight as she pressed down against it, using a protruding piece of metal as a pivot point for the six foot bar to help break in the door to the cockpit. With the side doors of the airplane pressed shut by the rotation of the cabin, and the rear opening out of the question entirely lest they be taken by the sniper, the cockpit seemed to be the only potential for an exit.

"Doing the best I can," Lexie responded with a wince as she braced herself against the pipe.

"Thank you for that," Ashley said, "but it ain't doing us no good, we're on the clock here."

"Like I didn't already know," Lexie said with frustration. Ashley was good to have around, especially when things got tough (which they often did out here), but Lexie was not liking the ordering. _Sky is dead, just give me a moment of peace, let me work my own shit out. I'll help, but lemme do it on my own time, ya know?_

"Just a little more..." Ashley said, putting her back into the bar as she pulled it with all her strength. She braced one foot against the wall, then the other as she pulled with all her muscle. Lexie too braced herself with all the strength she could muster in her battered frame, using the muscle she'd built up from years of softball to good use. They could hear the door strain, see the bar bend as it held up against the frame of the portal...

...and then it snapped in half. Lexie and Ashley both fell to the floor in a heap, Ashley cursing up a storm while Paul looked on amused.

"You're a big help Paulie," Ashley bemused as she rubbed the bump that was now forming above her hairline. She winced in pain, must've hit the head real good on that last one.

"I'd do something constructive," Paul said, "but I find it a lot easier just to laugh right now. You know I'd help if I could, but, ya know."

"Yeah, I do," Ashley replied with a sigh, "let's just blast the door open, shoot it 'til it's fallen off real good."

"We wouldn't be the first," Lexie mused as she ran a finger over the surface of the door. There were six holes in the door, quite clearly bullet holes, yet none were fresh. They all seemed to be as old as the airplane itself, which did create quite the mystery, but one that would have to hold off for another time. They needed out, and they needed out NOW.

"Any other ideas?" Lexie asked.

"I'm thinkin, I'm thinkin," Ashley responded.

"Well think faster," Lexie shot back, "we're on a clock, remember?"

Ashley looked back with cold eyes, "That is so not cool."

"Ladies," Paul said, "I might have an idea."

The two women approached the edge of the airplane's corpse, hiding along the edge as they looked out to Paul in the pouring rain. He looked to them with pained eyes, feeling the torn ear lobe and grinding his teeth to stop the hurt.

"If I run," he said, "run right now, it would give you two the chance to get a head start and get out of here. Give you more of a chance than we got now at least."

"But that's suicide!" Lexie responded.

"Maybe, I've got the cat-like reflexes, I might just be able to outwit and outrun whoever's shooting at us," Paul replied with a cocky grin, "it'd at least let two of us in on the escape instead of none of us. If we stay here, whoever it is, is just going to wait until they get a chance and they're going to get us. Better they get one than all."

"Not gonna happen," Ashley replied firmly, "when we get out of here, it's gonna be together, no changing that. If Lexie and I can get out of the front of this thing, we'll be able to circle around in back of this thing, grab a shield or something and get the three of us out of here while that sniper's just firin away at us and not hitting. If that don't happen, Anna or Carter, one of them's gonna figure out a way to come and rescue us."

"You think so?" Paul asked.

Ashley thought for a long, hard moment as she looked to the boy with the chainsaw before forming her response, "I've got faith in Carter, Anna I'm not sure about, but Carter... He's a guy to look out for his own, and right now we're his own. If we don't get out of here, one of 'em will come and rescue us."

Paul smiled back, not having seen too much hope in Ashley before, but definitely able to see it in her now. She actually believed in something, she actually believed they stood a fighting chance...

"Besides," Ashley continued, "whoever's doin this is good, even if they did shoot you dead and Lexie and me took off, he'd just shoot us just as quickly and the three of us would be lying in one steaming pile of shit. Otherwise I'd say have at it and I'd take my chances."

Well, so much for that theory, Paul thought as his smile disappeared entirely.

"I thank you for your compassion," Paul said sarcastically, "just trying to do the nice thing."

"And you're a nice guy for it," Ashley said with a hint of a warm smile, "you're us sane out here, and I gotta say you're one tough SOB for sticking behind the wheel like that, ain't he Lexie?"

Ashley nudged Lexie in the shoulder as she began to drift off again, "Yeah, real good Paul, thanks for helping us."

She sighed. _Say more Lexie, just do it. You know you have to, just get up and say it. Paul's always been funny, and he saved your life, just say what you have to say. He saved your life, now you might as well do the same._

"And Paul?" Lexie asked.

"Yeah?" he asked back, shaking the water from his hair as the rain poured down.

"I haven't really had the chance to get this out," she said, "but thank you for saving my life. Thanks for saving me, and letting me take care of Sky, and, just, being who you are out here. You're good for me, for all of us, and I just don't know how things would be if you weren't here."

Paul laughed slightly, but could get the sentiment rather well, "If I wasn't here I'd be at home enjoying not being here, but thank you anyway Miss Hawk. It's my pleasure to be there when I'm needed, and I could honestly think of worse places to be than surrounded by two of the coolest, hottest and most badass chicks this side of Braiwood High School."

Lexie genuinely giggled at the remark, while Ashley had to restrain herself. Alas, she could not, as she broke out into a genuine smile with a girlish giggle that did not often escape her lips. God bless Paul, with few exceptions there's no better people on the island than him. If anyone should survive... he should be on the short list.

"Come on Carter," Ashley whispered to herself, "where in the hell are ya?"

* * *

Carter James considered the materials before him and wasn't entirely enthused about what was going to happen. They'd found a small box of stainless steel needles and plastic thread, no rust or mold in sight, but the prospect of digging into Matt's substantial wounds (the sword slash across his chest and the gouge in his right arm were both pretty bad off) wasn't too appealing. 

"You take Home Ec class?" Carter asked Katherine nervously.

"No, I took shop," Katherine mentioned.

"You took shop over Home Ec?" Carter asked.

"Yeah, sorry I'm not the typical definition of a girly girl you're looking for," Katherine said, "but wood and metal beat muffins and aprons any day."

Carter paused with a bit of a smile, "I like muffins."

"Good to know," she said.

Carter looked on confused, "I thought you're a culinary arts major."

"I am," Katherine replied with her hands on her hips, "but building things is fun. I'm a girl but I like building stuff too. What's with the questions?"

"One of us needs to sew up Matt," Carter replied, "I just want to know who's best with a needle and thread."

Katherine nodded, raising an eyebrow, "And you asked me first because I'm a girl who's supposed to know how to use a needle and thread from birth?"

"Well, that," Carter said, "and believe it or not I'm not too big a fan of blood."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," Katherine replied, "and all things said and done I'm better with a buzzsaw than I am with a needle. You be the doctor, I'll be the nurse, we'll settle it all out of court when we're done, how's that sound?"

Carter paused, looking at the sewing implements he'd placed on the shelf.

"You're sure?" he asked.

Rolling her eyes, Katherine pulled the box of needles and spool of thread from the shelf and placed them in Carter's hands, "You can do this."

He looked with uncertainty to his hands, seeing that they were shaking, "I don't know..."

Standing up on her toes, Katherine put her hands on Carter's shoulders, placing her lips against his in a quick yet very sweet kiss.

"You can do this," she said with a smile.

Smiling back, Carter could feel nothing but pure and unadulterated confidence.

"All right, let's do this," he said.

* * *

Matt groaned as Carter began to sew up the slash across his chest. The injury on his arm was clear and easy to fix, very limited muscle damage (though it was still hard for Matt to flex, Katherine had fashioned a sling from one of the blankets) and not nearly as deep as it seemed, but the overall blood loss was pretty substantial. Worse off was the wound on his chest, covered with god only knows what kind of muck and grime from the time Matt had spent lying on the jungle floor. They'd washed it out with some clean, bottled water, while wiping away most of the dirt with another blanket. He'd winced and grimaced his way through the pain, but from years of experience in skating, he wasn't that bad off. 

"So you guys with Anna, Michael, Paul, Doug, Ashley, Gus, Jenny and Lexie found a way to get out of this thing and are all working together?"

"Basically," Carter said as he continued to stitch up Matt's chest. Matt sipped more water, trying to make up for the lost blood as he slowly faded in and out of consciousness.

"That's rich," Matt said with another cough, "Anna's been leading you guys since yesterday and no one's tried to kill her yet? That must be a new world's record."

Katherine cringed as some blood began to ooze from the injury, "She's a good leader," Katherine mentioned, "she didn't become class president for nothing."

"Dude," Matt replied, "she became president because she's got a lot of friends and no one else really gives a damn about school elections. Charles Manson could become president of our school if he knew five people who could spell his name right on a ballot."

"Well," Carter said as he pulled another stitch tight, "teamed together we've lasted a damn sight longer than any of us would have on our own."

"Fair enough," Matt replied, "so none of y'all have died? Hot stuff."

Carter looked to Katherine, not knowing how to respond. Francisco... they'd both watched him get murdered. They'd watched Joel and CC shoot him time and again, watching his body fall to the ground in a mess of meat and blood.

"Francisco was with us earlier," Katherine said in a low voice, "when we encountered Joel and split up, Francisco got shot. He stayed behind, slowed Joel down. He saved our lives."

"Francisco died?" Matt asked wearily, "I didn't hear his name."

"He was in the last announcement," Carter replied, "you were probably out then."

"Probably, yeah," Matt replied with a weak grimace, "watch it there."

"Sorry," Carter responded, tightening another loop in the stitching, "this is my first time."

"I can tell," Matt replied, "who all was mentioned?"

"Francisco, Shane, Eliza and Jackson," Katherine said, trying to list off those mentioned off the top of her head. She found it almost morbid to be talking about them as if they were nothing, but in a game where everyone was dying off, it seemed to be rather commonplace. Unfortunately.

"Jackson and Eliza?" Matt asked, eyes going wide as he tried to get up. Carter pressed him back down to the ground.

"Easy, easy," Carter said, "Katherine, could you hold his shoulders."

Katherine set her weight on Matt's shoulders, trying to keep him from moving as Carter continued to sew him up.

"Matt, you need to stay still, otherwise this isn't going to work. Just stay down," Carter conveyed as calmly as he could manage.

"But, Jackson... Eliza..." Matt said weakly. _They couldn't be, no. Too many people, too many good people. Dora, she was unacceptable, one of the people who deserved to die least. Jackson and Eliza, maybe even worse. They may not have been the happiest of couples, but they were perfect together. They may not have had the greatest career prospects for the future, but they were destined to be together. They were supposed to go off into the sunset and have many children, not die here on some fucking island. Happiness, that's all they needed and all they deserved. Not this, not this..._

With that, Matt passed out.

"All right," Carter said as he quickly checked Matt's breathing, "let's finish this up."


	45. Hour 40: 20 Contestants Remaining

Hour 40

20 Contestants Remaining

He knew pain. He knew pain, and he knew dark. Opening his eyes felt as if the lids were made of broken glass, but he had to do it. He had to see. Pain seared its way through the back of his skull, jolting him into a semi-dazed consciousness as he assessed his surroundings. The room was narrow, but long. He could see beyond it, windows, yes, windows. Everything was rocking slightly, and there were rows of seats too. _This place is familiar, way too familiar. This is where it began, yes, of course._

He opened his mouth to take a breath, sucking in air and tasting only death. _Yeah, that didn't taste good, don't do it again. But, you gotta breath to live, you have to do it. God, why does everything have to hurt so much? They must be punished, never forget. Why the pain?_

He stood up, placing both hands on his temples as pain wracked through his body. Wait, something's not right here... The world was wrong, all of it had a distinct sense of misplacement. None of this was right...

The rocking stop, and blinding light came through the window on the opposite side. Yes, he knew it now, back on the bus. He was back where it all started, back to relive the terror again. _No, not gonna kill her again, I can't, not again. Yes, you have to, the little slut broke you so you must break her, the rest of them, they made you. Break them, do it. No, can't, not again._

Walking through the aisles of seats, he couldn't help but notice how decrepit it was. The seats were moldy and smelled of rot, the floor caked with years of rust and grime. Water stains seemed to radiate across the floor like a perverse spider's web, almost following the boy as he walked towards the front.

There was no driver to be seen, though a small oxygen mask hung from the ceiling where he was supposed to be seated. Figures, he must've gotten out before the rest of us. Better yet, he was in on it, just another government stool sent to collect our hides. Why should this surprise you, you know how it goes buddy boy. Yeah, but I can still believe in some good out there. Good, there's no good here.

He exited the door, staring as a harsh floodlight from above blinded him. He could feel his eyes practically burned from the skull, but still could see. The gods, or whatever deity resides above, certainly seemed to have a sense of humor. Yes, the noise, he remembered it now, and he could see them all...

They were the soldiers, all clad in black riot gear. Each had a clear plastic shield held against one arm, holding a baton in the next. They would slam the bottom of the shield against the ground twice, then the baton against it in a repetitive, almost rhythmic fashion. _We will, we will, rock you._ _That's right, the sick fucks do have a sense of humor._ The men without faces continued their tune for the damned, watching silently as the boy walked their ranks. _That's right, you're sick fucks, you heard me correctly, whaddya think about that?_

One lashed out with his baton, cracking the boy in the chin with a spray of blood. Another knocked him in the back, urging him to go faster. He started to run, urged on when one hit the back of his knee and sent him reeling. Another baton to the front of the knee and he was down. The shields, they closed in, the men without faces coming in, pushing him to the ground, crushing him as they looked on. _Stop it, just please, STOP IT!_

As all sound stopped, the boy uncovered his head and looked up. He was in the jungle, a small grove of thick reeds and cattails. This wasn't the right island, no, this one was different, this one's a different place. _Hell, this one's a different time altogether, just let it go and deal with it, it's a bad place, they're all bad._

He shocked himself back to reality as a pair of cold, clammy hands clasped around his feet. It was a girl, gray and decayed flesh, covered with dried blood, reaching with her hands up his leg as she climbed him with impossible, unnatural dexterity. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he couldn't help but recognize her face. It was Dora, Dora Janovec.

"You did this," she hissed as coagulated blood poured from the hole in her throat, "you did this to me!"

Disgusted, he pushed her to the side through the reeds, to which she recovered rather quickly and just stood staring at him. Another pair of hands clawed at his ankle, those belonging to a girl with a perpetually terrified face and nothing below the denuded stump of her spine. She was rotted away, ripped in half, and looked to him with eyes that were as worried in death as they were in life.

"Why?" Tammy asked, "why me?"

More shapes pushed their way through the reeds, making their forms known. Maxine hobbled through with an awkward gait as her ruined knee made walking difficult, while Ayane didn't seem to mind the swollen tongue that hung limply from her mouth as the wire still choked itself around her neck. Serenity looked to be a blood-drenched angel, flesh devoid of color except the brownish-crimson of dried blood on her flesh. AJ waddled through, trying his best to hold his guts in from the holes bored in his chest, while both Brynn and Cheryl looked absolutely beautiful, aside from the fact that neither of them had much of a head behind their faces.

Through the reeds pushed one of the largest figures, this one with an angry, accusing face, yet with a look of stupidity which likely came from the screwdriver stuck in her ear.

"How does it feel?" Elena accused, "Huh Damien? You ruined our lives, stole our futures, robbed our families, how does it feel? How does it feel you twisted freak?"

Feeling the anger rise, he planted both hands on her chest and forced her away. He looked oddly at the appendages, noting where the one should have been ripped from the bone.

"Something you don't remember?" a haunting, feminine voice asked from behind. He whirled around to see the rest of his sins, two friends, one shot, one stabbed. There was that stranger in the athletic jacket shot so many times and with flesh ripped from his torso in an explosion behind them, while next to him was that brunette girl who could've been a model if most of her skull wasn't shot away. Her friend, the redhead had a rusted hacksaw lodged in her throat, while her boyfriend had his eyes shot away. But no, there was the queen in front of them. The curly blonde hair, her bright blue eyes and sweet smile, all bisected by various cuts which had sealed themselves over. Her body, clad in what once was a white dress was now full of holes, dozens of stab wounds that would put even Dora to shame. She seemed to float above the ground, looking down upon Damien despite the fact that he was quite a bit taller than her.

"Come on Charlie, doesn't it look familiar? Doesn't any of this ring a bell? You did this, you did all of this."

She smiled, looking down on him as her wounds seemed to widen, "You're here for us now though, you're here for all of us. Ours forever and ever, just like you promised."

The demonic queen flicked lightly at a school ring hanging from a chain around her neck.

"Now, you are OURS!" she shrieked as they all converged upon the downed boy, tearing at his flesh. They ripped at his face, tore at his throat, some ripping his scalp from the skull with particular glee. Sets of hands penetrated his belly, spilling his entrails in a steaming pile as the girls played about in them like streamers. More ripped at his arm, separating it below the elbow, making it like he remembered. _Damien, Charlie, Damien, Charlie, just stop it, stop calling me out, Damien, Charlie, I'm sorry, please, just leave me alone, Damien, Charlie, Damien, you made me like I made you, bitches, you transformed me, you crushed me, Damien, Charlie, Damien, Charlie, THEY'RE NOT ME, JUST STOP IT, STOP IT!_

* * *

Arching his back from the tree, Damien Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17, awoke from what was technically a death-like state, gasping for air as he looked into the sky. 

"I AM THE DEMON!" he yelled as he could feel it all release, and the last pure strands of his sanity disappear.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to be picking at that?" Michael asked idly as Anna shuffled the cards. 

"Don't hurt like it did before," Gus commented as he continued to pull dry pieces of skin from his ruined face. The mask was gone, a combination of his own frustration and the fact that it began to itch like a bitch now gave Gus enough muster to pull it off. The oven cleaner Lisa had sprayed on him the day before ate away at much of the outer tissue, but left the layers below and musculature intact for the most part. His one eye was still crusted over and was probably dead to the world, but a hastily made eye-patch evened that out a bit. Although it worked rather well, it didn't disguise the fact that his face was a mess of dried and dead skin. It also didn't help the fact that he began to pick at it and was removing large clumps, tossing them to the side as he pleased.

"Yeah, but it might get infected," Michael replied.

"It might, but I doubt it," Gus said, pulling a large piece from his cheek and enjoying how it stretched.

"Then how about you do it for the rest of us? It's not exactly helping me keep my stomach from blowing chunks in your lap," Michael responded.

"You don't wanna blow chunks," Gus responded with a wry grin.

"I don't?" Michael asked quizzically.

"Nah," Gus said with a wide, albeit flaky, grin, "wanna know why?"

"Now this I'm dying to hear," Michael replied with a smile.

"I got a dog back home named Chunks. You may be gay, but somethin tells me you don't wanna be blowing him anytime soon," Gus practically guffawed, much to Michael's disgusted dismay and Anna's amusement.

"Well done Gus," Anna said with a high five, "well done if I must say so myself."

"It's an oldie but it's a goldie," Gus said as he exchanged a quick high five with Anna. Grabbing the pack from her stash, he quickly shook out a cigarette and deftly lit it up.

"Now this is nice," he said, "can smoke now that I don't gotta worry about the mask lightin on fire and makin me even uglier than before."

"So you weren't born like this?" Michael asked.

"No," Gus responded without missing a beat, "you were, but I'm having a bad day."

"You're in good company in that regard I think," Anna replied as she began to deal the cards.

"Fair enough," Gus said as he looked at his cards, "I swear you shit on this deck and dealt it to me."

Anna smiled as she looked to hers. Pocket aces, talk about the day's luck really turning around.

"So," Michael said.

"So what?" Anna asked, pulling out the flop. _Two threes and a six, two pair, very nice._

"So we've got out all our sob stories of the people we're gonna miss back home, we haven't heard hide nor hair from you fearless leader," Michael responded rather boldly.

"I keep my cards close to my chest," Anna responded, whatever trace of a smile she had disappearing.

"Well, come on," Michael prodded, "we've spent the last day or so just sitting back here talking things out, we open our hearts, I told you about Sam, Gus here told you about Brenda, you know our secrets and we hardly know the person who's gonna lead us to salvation."

"You want a secret?" Anna asked.

"Yeah," Gus responded curiously, cutting off Michael before he was able to respond, "I'd like to know who I'm working for personally."

"You don't even have to give a secret," Michael added, "I know you but I don't know you, you know what I'm saying? Gimme a favorite soda, favorite movie, favorite TV show, anything."

"Yeah boss," Gus chided, "you're big into Fear Factor, ain'tcha?"

"Gus," Michael said bluntly, "this is so much worse than any horsecrap Fear Factor could think up."

"Oh," Gus said, lowering his tattered eyebrows, "right."

Dealing out the turn, Anna caught another ace. _Full house, kick any of these guys asses no matter what at this point, unless one of them has pocket threes, but no, odds don't favor that now._ Her face did not defy her though, remaining icy calm as the two boys laughed it up.

"What's the use of worrying about your beard when your head is about to be taken?" Anna muttered to herself as she tired of the conversation.

"Say what?" Doug asked.

"My favorite movie," Anna replied as she looked back up to them, "if I lose this hand, I will tell you guys my favorite movie, sound fair?"

"If that's what you're betting," Michael replied with a smirk, "then you gotta have something good, and I don't think I can own up to it. I'm out. How about you Gus?"

Gus ran his fingers over his chin, pulling off some loose skin and tossing it to the side.

"I can swing it I think," Gus replied, tossing a few spare bucks he'd made off previous games onto the floor, "I'm good for tha-"

"Hey!" Jenny practically shrieked as she skidded out of the partly-closed meat locker door, "Doug figured it out! We know how to get the belts off!"

She disappeared quickly back into the room, followed by Michael who was up in a flash. Anna was soon to follow, leaving the slow to respond Gus behind on the floor.

"What about the cards?" Gus asked.

"Later," Anna said dismissively.

"But I was gonna win!" Gus said.

"There's more important things going on than some hand of cards," Anna said, then turning around with a smile, "besides, I was going to hand you your ass on a platter anyway. Guaranteed."

As she disappeared into the freezer, Gus sighed, twisting his neck with a satisfying pop. Putting the cards in his back pocket, he walked to the freezer and began tugging at another sheet of dried skin.

* * *

Gus entered the freezer to a common sight: everyone crowded around Doug as he went on like a maniac. 

"These guys are good, very good, almost too good," Doug said with wild eyes and a smile that crossed his face so much it threatened to split him in two, "but I'm better, they didn't count on better, they counted on average but they've never faced me before, for I AM INVINCIBLE!"

"The belts Doug," Anna said with her hands on his shoulders, "how do we get them off?"

"Yeah," Doug replied with a chattering of buttons, "right. I tried getting into those Phoenix files, but when I got in they were a mix of all sorts of crap and ratings numbers, which ain't helping us, HOWEVER, when I got through there it got me a back door to the rest of the files and we got all sorts of fun things."

With a chattering of keys, he brought up a simple schematic drawing of the belts, "OK, here we go. Welcome to the Utah Beach-23 model explosive belt, wrapped tight with enough primer cord to rip through a human torso and spine."

"We know this already," Anna said, "how do we take it off?"

"I'm getting there," Doug said, "besides, you might want to listen to this next part because it concerns you."

With a chattering of keys he brought up another, nearly identical schematic of a belt.

"Meet it's cousin, the Omaha Beach-42," Doug said.

"They look the same," Michael commented.

"You know," Doug said with a smile, "I was hoping you would say that."

Typing a few more keys, he pointed out three nodes placed along the inner rim of the belt.

"What are those?" Anna asked.

"These are something that makes me give those government guys credit," Doug said, "they knew that there would be people trying to figure out how to take these things off without them figuring it out, so they put in a fail-safe in case someone figured out how to deactivate the explosives."

Pointing to the nodes, Doug continued, "These are essentially blasting caps, but they aren't connected to the main explosives in any regard. They're kept next to the capsules filled with a delightful cocktail of pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride."

Looking on with suddenly wide eyes, Anna added, "Lethal injection."

"You got it sister," Doug replied, "they knew that some of us would be liable to figure out the system and get these things off without the manual override, so they got this together."

"Who's got these belts?" Anna asked with a bit of dread.

Typing a few more keys, Doug found the list and read it without missing a beat, "Carter James, alive. Doug Rodgers, alive. Blake Morrow, deceased. AJ Takagaki, deceased. Peter Larkin, deceased. Damien Myers, alive. Katie Snyder, alive. Anna Rourke, alive. Ayane Fujikawa, deceased. Eliza Mann, deceased."

Counting them off on her fingers, Anna put the pieces together, "Ten people. Key members from The Students for a Democratic Society, the smartest kids in class, a troublemaker, and Damien."

"Yeah," Doug said.

Thinking back to what Doug had said, Anna asked, "What about the manual override you said?"

"Ah ha," Doug replied with some glee, "once again I'm glad you asked. See, that's what I love about you guys, we're always on the same page on some strange level."

Typing in a few more buttons, Doug rotated the image to show the side of the belt.

"The manual override is used for putting the belts on and taking the belt off the winner. This plug," Doug said as he pointed to the image, then to his own belt, "this is the key. You need the proper tool that fits into this plug, give a twist of the wrist, and not only is the belt deactivated, it falls off and you're good to go about your life."

"What kind of tool?" Anna asked.

"Well," Doug said as he typed some more and pulled up schematics of the cylindrical device with its distinctive plug, "this, this..."

Looking at the monitor and the device schematics, Doug began to break out laughing. It wasn't a funny laugh, but something of a maniacal, almost angry laugh as he looked at the screen.

"Doug," Anna asked as she looked worried to the boy on the computer, "what is it?"

He continued to laugh like a man possessed, staring at the screen and then collapsing to the floor on his back.

"He's lost it man," Gus said with a trace of fear as he backed away to the edge of the room.

"Doug!" Anna yelled as she held him by the shoulders, "What IS IT?"

"The things," Doug choked out with a stupid grin on his face, "the things to take off the belts. I've seen them before. They were there and I was stupid."

Jenny, Michael and Anna all focused on Doug as he looked at the ceiling with tear-filled eyes.

"They were right in front of me and I didn't fucking make the connection, we could be out of here now, you, me, all of us gone gone gone..."

"Where?" Anna asked with conviction, "where did you see them?"

"On the boat," Doug replied, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes, "they had a rack of them against one wall. I thought they were cattle prods or something, but I knew they looked weird. Who would need cattle prods on a boat, come on!"

For the first time as long as any of them could remember, Anna let a broad smile cross her face. Her face was one of genuine elation and happiness, something that had not commonly been known to her. Even Jenny was surprised by it. Sure, she'd seen Anna happy before, but not like this, she always kept her cards close to her chest. She never let on what she was feeling, not to anyone else's faces at least, but this was it. This was huge.

"Doug," Anna said with a smile, "this time tomorrow I'm buying you a beer, guaranteed."

She got up, looking at her map as Michael, Jenny, Doug and then Gus walked up behind to look over her shoulder as she pointed to the map.

"We can get them in that blind spot," Anna said animatedly, "easy come, easy go, we'll get them after dark, with luck we'll have more help by then, if not, we can do it on our own, but we can break them, we can steal the device and we can take these belts off. We know how to escape, and we can pull it off!"

"We're gonna do this guys!" Anna exclaimed as she turned around to face them all, "We're gonna do-"

She was cut off as the curved end of a crowbar connected with the front of her skull, caving it in slightly as it impacted with a definitive THOCK. A light mist of blood hit Jenny in the face, causing her to scream as Anna's legs buckled, her body tumbling to the ground. She hit the computer, tearing its cables free and cracking the screen as her body met the floor in a twitching heap. Although she still moved rather rapidly on the floor as her body spasmed uncontrollably, Anna Rourke was very dead.

"Jesus Gus!" Michael exclaimed, looking to their redneck associate. He looked to the remaining three as they stood by shocked, holding the crowbar threateningly in his hands.

"Ain't gonna take this no more," Gus said, "I was able to go with you guys for so long but things ain't workin out here like she said. This is my time, I'm doin this my way now."

Jenny screamed again, snapping Gus out of his thoughts as he swung the crowbar in her direction. Michael stepped in the way, pushing Jenny to the side at the expense of his wrist which snapped with a satisfying crunch. He howled in pain, falling to the floor seeing nothing but hurt.

Doug lunged for the revolver Anna had placed in the back of her belt, yet for some strange reason, Gus was faster. He grabbed the revolver and held it with shaky hands, aiming back and forth between the three remaining members of SABRE. Be cool man, be cool, you can do this.

"Gus," Doug pleaded, "please, don't do thi-"

In quick succession, Gus fired off all six shots from the revolver, all of which missed spectacularly as Michael, Jenny and Doug ducked into corners of the small meat locker. Frustrated, Gus threw the revolver in Doug's direction as he reached blindly for something, anything that he could use to either bash or slash the rest of them.

Jenny was quicker. She'd come out of the shock of seeing her best friend murdered enough to know that she should focus on saving her own life first, grabbing an old and rusted meat hook. Swinging it, she hooked the curved end around Gus' wrist and pinned it against the wall. Defensively, he swung out his free hand in a fist and punched her in the face, sending her sprawling to the floor.

"Hey!" Doug shouted as he held the tranq dart gun. He focused it on Gus, aiming for the head. This did not work out too well, no, this is something that probably could have taken some planning ahead of time, not one of those 'figure them out when they happen' sort of things.

"Get on the floor with your hands on your head or so help me I will put one of these through your eye!" Doug shouted to Gus as he stood in the doorway to the locker.

Gus stood silently, staring down the diminutive Doug. _He's two years shy of you, 50 pounds, half a foot, you got him by all means here, and now he's gonna shoot you. That ain't right man, I'm telling ya._

He dodged to the side, letting Doug's first shot sail harmlessly into the wall as he ducked out of the meat locker's door. Pressing his weight against the door from the outside, Gus slammed it shut and closed the bolt on the heavy door. He could hear them pounding weakly on the other side after a moment, but they didn't matter anymore. None of them mattered. _You've been building up for this moment all your life Gussy boy. First you thought you could pull off the good guy act, that you could escape and be the hero. That keeps ya from getting your hands dirty all right, but this is different, this is war. They failed to escape, and when they can, it's a long shot. Can't live life by long shots, so now you have to do this the old fashioned way. You've gotta play the game._

Finding his backpack with its ration of food and water, Gus pulled it over his shoulders. He winced slightly at the pain that still existed from his facial burns, but it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse. He could've been locked in that box, waiting for the inevitable when they turn this area into a danger zone before it all goes to crap.

He pulled down the temporary barricades that had been erected at the door and swung it open. It still held lazily on its one hinge, swinging back and forth as the winds caught it. _Never fixed that door like you should've, Paul fucked it up pretty good. Not a problem now though, that's their problem. Who knows, maybe some bastard with a gun would find 'em and be nice enough to shoot 'em and make it easy for the rest of us._

Looking back through the open door, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the playing cards he'd pocketed earlier. Pocket threes... He tossed them to the ground without a thought.

* * *

"Can you find the flashlight?" Doug asked Jenny within the pitch blackness of the locker. 

"I can't," she cried as she groped around blindly, "it's not here!"

"It's there, I put it there myself," Doug said as he tried to remain calm, "just keep feeling in the corner, it's there."

Soon she reached what felt like a cylinder with one end flaring out, and with the click of a button, she had it. The room was illuminated by the thin beam of light emanating from Jenny's hands. It was a deep orange though, batteries almost dry. That's what we get for keeping them on all night.

"Michael," Doug asked as he looked to the boy with the colorful hair, "you all right?"

Michael curled up in a ball on the floor, cradling his arm as his words came out almost in a hiss, "My wrist... I think it's broken."

"Shit," Doug said as his eyes adjusted to the limited light, "the computer..."

He walked over to the device and looked on with near horror. When Anna's corpse had fallen into it, the hasty antenna array they had created was broken to bits. What was left of it that extended out the door had snapped when Gus slammed and locked the door on them. It could be fixed, but it would take some work. Power supply, busted, probably won't work. Screen is cracked... this may not work.

"We're dead in the water here without this," Doug said as he looked up to Jenny. In her right mind, she couldn't pay any attention to him. She focused the beam of light on Anna, no longer moving and now lying peacefully on the cold, damp floor of the mess hall's meat locker.

"Anna..." she choked out, letting her eyes lock on to Doug's. He looked back, understanding yet not being able to put it into words. Their friend was gone. Their leader was dead. Their purpose, the person who had brought them together and organized them for their escape from this island was dead. What now?

"What now?" Michael asked in extreme pain, "What the fuck happens now?"

"I don't know," Doug admitted, "I have no idea."

After a moment of silence, the batteries of their flashlight died out, plunging the three into pitch black isolation once more.

**

* * *

Transcript of Girl # 7 (Anna Rourke's) Speech to the Braiwood High School graduating class of 2003:**

ANNA: To the graduating class of 2003, I have only one piece of advice. Wear sunscreen.

(Moment of silence, some scattered laughter.)

ANNA: Sorry, I was told that it might be best to start this out with a joke, and I gave it my best shot. Look how well that one went.

(Another moment of silence, she clears her throat to the microphone.)

ANNA: If you came to me four years ago, when we all started this great adventure that was high school, and said that I would be standing before all of you today, my friends, my family, I would have told you that you were nuts. Seriously, in the beginning I would have never dreamed of political aspirations, but look at me here and now. High school changes people. We came into it these innocent, doe-eyed youths looking to find where we fit in the world, trying to see if and where we fit into the grand scheme of things. Some of us may have considered the experience for the best, where we make friends for life and never forget what school has given us. Others may want to forget what school has done to us or just want to blend into the background. We came in as one thing, pure innocence and confusion, and we're all coming out of this shaped for the better. We're now on to a path of greater things beyond the grounds of this school and beyond ourselves as we saw possible.

(Fit of applause, then calming down.)

ANNA: But, besides change will we be taking anything out of this experience? Is change all we will be able to brag about? Of all the things I know I am taking out of this, the greatest, the one I will cherish most will be friendship. We may not have all gotten along with each other and we may not even have all liked each other on the same levels, but in going through these rough four years of our lives together we have shared a part of our life with each other. We have become one big family. It may not be the most functional, or even the happiest of family, but the common bond that we share as the Class of 2003 will keep us together for the rest of our lives. I know that a lot of you may not like me or believe what I'm saying to be garbage, but that is your right. I leave considering myself fortunate to have known each and every one of you over these last four years, and it takes no effort to call you all my family. Thank you, and I'll catch y'all at Grad Nite!

(Feedback from loudspeakers as class song kicks in.)

BEATLES:

_What would you think if I sang out of tune,_

_Would you stand up and walk out on me._

_Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,_

_And I'll try not to sing out of key._

_I get by with a little help from my friends,_

_I get high with a little help from my friends,_

_Going to try with a little help from my friends..._


	46. Hour 41: 19 Contestants Remaining

Hour 41

19 Contestants Remaining

"This music fucking blows!" Mike yelled across the busy dance floor to the DJ as he started up another go of 'Tainted Love', but he couldn't hear the criticism, nor would he care. He'd been hired for the Braiwood High Prom, and come hell or high water or bolt of lightning or telekinetic psychotic jilted prom queen was he going to not do his job.

"Hey Mike," Bo said, "lighten up mate, it ain't worth it."

"Like hell it is!" Mike slurred, "We want something from the last century! The people demand Free Bird!"

Bo looked around the assembled group of wrestlers, though none were liable to be of any help. Joel was making out heavily with CC, Karen (in perhaps the boxiest tux ever known to man) was ogling some of the barely there dresses on the dance floor, while Lenny and Edgar had been drinking from the same flask as Big V., which wasn't making the situation any better.

"You're pissed man," Bo said as he tried to restrain Big V, "ease up with it mate."

"Yeah," Mike said, "but I'm always angry."

"Not angry you twat," Bo said as he remembered the double meaning for the word, "I mean you're drunk, ease up before you get us all thrown out."

"Well," Mike responded, "I'm always drunk too."

"That you are," Bo replied, "but this tux cost good money and I'll be damned if I'm getting kicked out of prom and have it all go to waste."

"That'd be your fault, not mine," Mike said with a cocky grin.

"That doesn't make any sense," Bo replied.

"For fucks sake, give me some credit," Mike begged.

"Fuck off," Bo said dismissively as he looked out across the dance floor. This was not his idea of a good time. He'd heard stories about wild prom nights, everybody having fun, lots of sex, lots of liquor, and for the most part found it to be a myth. He didn't mind the no liquor part, unlike the rest of Joel and his droogs, he didn't need it to live (though on occasion it made for a helluvan escape). Regardless, the night was about as harmless as it got. There were people out dancing on the floor, young couples planning for love, probably having a good toss later, but none of them out there and loose with it. Well, none that Bo wanted to touch at least; it might not have been that difficult to get with the likes of Lori Nicotero or Lizzy Jones, or even Luke if that happened to be Bo's deal (which it most certainly was not), but at best they could be described as damaged goods. Bo may not have been broken-in in the traditional sense, but he had enough propriety to him to not want to go out with just any skank, particularly those who were bound to have diseases named after them.

"Come on," Joel said as he parted from CC, "we're ditching this joint."

"Where we goin?" Lenny asked.

"There's a party at that hick's place," Joel continued, "not a big place but he's got a full liquor cabinet and he's got a keg."

"I am there!" Mike said enthusiastically.

"You're already there asswipe," Joel said, "who's drivin who?"

"I'll take Mike," Karen said out of nowhere with her eyes still fixed on the dance floor, "he's gonna have enough trouble standing up as is and probably won't last the night if he's driving. Bo, you're comin with us, I need someone to hold Big V down while I drive."

"We're leaving?" Bo asked.

"Yeah," Joel said harshly as he motioned with his head towards the door, "this party's going nowhere and I wanna be somewhere the cops are going to bust up. Let's go."

Bo sighed, but kept with his comrades. Many a night he'd been on a bender with Joel and the rest, and more times than he could count he was the one who wound up dragging them out of one fight or the next, but they were his mates. They were his friends, and in many ways the closest thing he had to a family out here. What was that saying? You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your family. For better or worse, he had to stick by them...

* * *

"Iiiiiiiiiif I leeeeeeeeave heeeeeere tomorrrrrrrow, woooooooooould you stillll remember meeeeeeee?" Big V. wailed from the open car window as the cool night air rushed by and helped clear the vomit from his chin. 

"Man," Bo said, "it's rank back here."

"We'll find a gas station or something," Karen said, "anything with a hose we can just blast the shit out of Mike with."

"Yeah, but it smells like shite back here still."

"Yeah," Karen said from behind the wheel, "but it's my car and I don't have a problem, think you can deal with it up until the party?"

"I guess so," Bo considered as he looked out the window to the night's lights. Cars mixed with streetlights to create a surreal light show experience, helping to pull him away from the smell of Mike's vomit for just a few moments. Still, he couldn't help but notice the certain change in neighborhoods. The main streets of Braiwood gave way to a more urbanized appearance, signs changing from English to different dialects of Spanish and Korean. He could see more low income housing, more homeless people, more things that said he was getting further from "home" than he already was.

"Where are we?" Bo asked Karen inquisitively.

"Looking for a gas station," Karen replied with a smile.

"There's gas stations back in town," Bo added, "this isn't town."

"No, we're taking the scenic route," Karen said, "trust me, you'll like it."

"Not likin it so far," Bo commented.

Karen looked back at Bo in the rear view mirror with delightfully malicious eyes, but said no more as the Brit just looked on confused. He'd seen bad neighborhoods before, lived in them too. Part of the whole foreign exchange program that was appealing was getting out of there for just a bit, spend senior year overseas, come back and join the army. It was an admirable path, and one that allowed him a good education, good licks and good company while it lasted. But, bad neighborhoods in an area he knew he could handle. None of them had guns, here no one's looking for a good pagga 'round these parts, it's just shoot first and run like hell. That's some scary shit right there.

Karen pulled the car off the main road, turning into a Shell station before powering down the engine.

"Come on," she said to Bo as she opened the driver's side door. Bo exited shortly thereafter, enjoying the smell of gasoline infinitely more than Mike's vomit. He walked around the vehicle, watching as Karen opened the door and spilled Mike out onto the ground. He protested lightly as she closed the door, slamming it against his forehead as he hit the ground. She laughed a bit, then finding a water hose near the pump. With a flick of the switch, Mike V. met a merciless stream of high pressure water.

"Sure you wanna do that to his tux?" Bo asked.

"I didn't pay for it," Karen responded as she blasted Mike in the face, banging his head against the side of the car.

"So what do you want me to do?" Bo asked idly as he kicked a crushed beer can out of the way.

"What do I want?" Karen asked idly. She fished around in her pocket, tossing something small and plastic with a silvery glint on one end towards Bo. He caught it, fumbling the small object around in his hand in the dim fluorescent lighting of the gas station. It was a key, the plastic tag on the end reading 237.

"I want you to use that," Karen said with a slightly malevolent grin, "I want you to cross the street to the Sunshine Motel, use that key to open room 237 and I want you to have a good time."

"I'm not following," Bo said quizzically.

"We paid good money for the room," Karen said a bit angrily, "don't fuck this up, just fuck, ya know?"

Bo furrowed his eyebrow, then rolling his eyes as he realized what was happening, "You're trying to hook me up with some tart? Some cheap whore?"

"Whoa," Karen said defensively as she continued to spray Mike with the hose, "for one, she was not cheap, only the room was. Two, this is not just another whore, she's quality stuff, we all tried her out, she's a complete professional."

Turning off the hose for a moment, Karen continued, "Look, Bo, you're part of our family, and we look out for our own. Now, we all know you came to this country with your cherry, and since we look out for our own, we didn't want you going back home without being properly broken in."

"Man," Bo said as he shook his head, "this is pretty fucked up right here."

"Maybe," Karen replied, "but think of when you'll get a chance like this again. The room is free, paid until morning, the girl too. She's ready, willing, able, and won't say no. Trust me, she's as good as it gets, better than any high school pussy you're gonna find this side of SoCal. Besides man, we all put in a big chunk of change."

She kicked Mike in the stomach, rolling him onto his back so she could continue to blast him with the hose.

"Even Mike here," she looked to him with insistent eyes, "come on man, you came to America for the experience, how could this not be the most memorable thing to happen to you?"

If it wasn't as fucked up as it was, Bo probably would have been touched by the gesture. The whole bloody thing confused him; it was a fucked up thing, but he was a virgin, and being a horny young male, he was rather curious and as insistent as any other to find out what sex was all about. Still, was it right to do it like this? Bloody hell, this is just fucked up.

* * *

With a turn of the key, Bo opened the door to room 237. It was dark, but he could already tell the room wasn't all that impressive. Then again, neither was the outside, so what should he expect? Queen-sized bed, bathroom off on the far side, TV across from the bed, all seemed pretty standard. At least it didn't smell like someone had jacked off against a shag carpet and left it out to dry. That smell was common enough at school as it was. 

"Are you Bo?" a feminine voice asked. Startled, Bo whirled around to see a faint outline in the darkness. The orange glow of a cigarette hanging lazily from her mouth illuminated the face enough for Bo to see her eyes fixated on him.

"Y-y-yes," he stammered.

"I'm Roxanne," she said smoothly and confidently, "like the song, by far a personal and sentimental favorite of mine. I could go on for hours about my music, but that's not why you're here. Your friends paid me to do a favor for you."

More nervous than he knew possible, Bo responded, "I, I really don't know how to handle this. This is new to me."

She took another drag from the cigarette, not getting up from her chair, "Are you a virgin?"

"W-w-what makes you say that?" he asked.

"Nobody said anything," she replied, "if that is what you are wondering. I can hear it in your voice though, you've got a fair amount of uncertainty in you. It's reasonable for a first time, I assure you."

As she reached behind her, Roxanne flipped on the light switch and gave Bo a full view of her. She was young, younger than her voice indicated. Nineteen, twenty at the oldest. Her curly blonde hair fell lazily around her eyes and neck, perfectly framing an almost angelic, pure face. Her open leather jacket framed the bra behind it and its substantial contents rather well, while her skirt rode so high on her toned thighs that if she uncrossed her legs, Bo would have been able to see if she'd been wearing any knickers. He was betting that she didn't have any, though was having a hard time not drooling as it was.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked seductively.

"I-uh..." Bo trailed off as he couldn't peel his eyes from her.

"It isn't a trick question," Roxanne replied cheekily, "I'm just asking you if you like what you see."

"YES!" Bo blurted out in a fit of embarrassment, getting Roxanne to smile proudly.

"So, you do like me," she replied, crushing her cigarette out in an ash tray, "what is it you like best?"

She watched the awestruck look on Bo's face as he was rendered speechless, taking the opportunity to smile and continue on, "My lips perhaps? Maybe you'd like to see them wrapped around you, sucking you dry?"

Roxanne licked her lips conspiratorially, uncrossing her legs and proving to Bo that she indeed was without knickers, "Or maybe you're a leg man, you'd like to run your hands up these, feel these wrapped around your back while I ride you like a cowgirl."

Bo stumbled back slightly, trying to keep his footing and failing miserably. Roxanne took the opportunity to stand, letting her jacket drop free from one shoulder, then the next as it revealed her rather substantial bra, "Or maybe you're like the rest of the high school boys, you're a breast man. You want to bury your face in these, suckle on them 'til the sun comes up."

She sidled on over smoothly, swaying her hips seductively as she approached Bo. The prostitute wrapped her arms around the high school students' neck, nibbling on his ear briefly before whispering again.

"So," she asked, "what do you like most? What would you like to make yours most?"

Bo's face flushed red with embarrassment. There was so much about this situation that seemed wrong, there was so much that screamed to him to run away now while he still had the wherewithal, but at the same time, it was hard to believe that this wasn't the greatest thing that had happened to him since he'd crossed the pond.

"You'd laugh if I told you," Bo admitted.

She giggled slightly, "Hon, I've heard and seen some strange stuff in my day, little you could tell me would strike me as strange."

Taking in a breath, Bo replied, "You have one of the most amazing, soft, sexy bodies I've ever seen, but I have to say I like your eyes most. You've easily got the most beautiful, deep green eyes I've ever seen."

Legitimately taken aback, she separated from Bo for the moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean-"

"No," Roxanne replied as she composed herself, "don't be. I'm not easily flattered but you managed to pull it off."

She wrapped herself around Bo once more, trailing kisses down his neck, "You've earned the special treatment. Your friends got it paid through 'til tomorrow morning, and from now until then I am yours to do with what you please."

Bo let her push him down onto the bed as she smiled down at him malevolently.

"I only ask of you one thing," she said, "one measly thing, but it's an important thing so I have to ask it now."

"What's that?" Bo asked.

"Do you have protection?" she asked, "Did you by any chance bring any condoms with you tonight?"

Bo let his eyes trail guiltily to the wall, "No, no I didn't. This wasn't something that I was really expecting, if-"

"It's not a problem," Roxanne replied as she went to her purse, fished around a bit and tossed a few on the bed next to Bo, "not a problem at all."

With the nervous energy hitting him again, Bo looked up to the prostitute and tried to force a smile. He still couldn't help but think of how wrong this all probably was, but he'd resigned himself to it. He was going to lose his virginity tonight, and it was going to be a good time.

As she dropped her bra to the floor, he fumbled with the wrapping of the condom.

* * *

Bo woke up drowsily as the sun came through the window and smiled. For the longest time he'd half-expected sex just to be this mystery that everyone talked about yet kept this mystery for being mystery's sake. It had to be this huge thing that people built up, but it couldn't be as good as all that, right? He was never happier to be so wrong. Roxanne (though he doubted that it was her real name), was a machine, and a well-trained one at that. She knew everything, every little nuance of every little motion and every gasp and moan that made the experience that much better and that much more memorable. The night was amazing, no, it was beyond amazing. Words could not describe how awesome an experience it was. He didn't even mind the condoms. Thank you Karen, thank you Mike, thank you Lenny, thank you Edgar, thank you Joel. Thank you mates for this beautiful day. 

As the rest of his world came into focus, he could hear the shower running. Rolling over, he saw the outline in the shower curtain distinctly. Roxanne, unbelievable, Roxanne... She was the perfect, and her smile... Odds are she was faking it, but she was still very good at what she did. Hell, she gave him her cell number and told her to call up whenever he had the chance, saying he'd get a discount. If this wasn't a perfect night (well, perfect aside from those guys in the next room over yelling stuff about beer and a gun at three in the morning, but that died down quick), the what is?

Looking to get dressed (even if it was back into his tux), Bo reached for the end table and grasped for his watch. Instead, he managed to knock over her purse and spill its contents out onto the floor. Bloody hell, smooth move Bo. Looking at the mess on the floor, he did a quick survey of its contents: dozens of condoms, some lipstick, makeup, a bottle of Tylenol, and another bottle of prescription drugs. Probably 'ludes or something...

Remembering a tip his father had taught him about learning the name of a girl whose name you forgot after waking up at her place, Bo considered the bottle of pills. Quick way to figure someone's name is to look in their medicine cabinet. No, it's a shit idea, it's her privacy, if she wanted you to know her name, she'd have told you it. Yes, Roxanne is probably a stage name, but it's her choice, right? She's a nice girl, nicer than her job indicates. It's invading privacy, bad idea, just don't do it Bo and get on with the morning, it's a beautiful day, you lost your cherry, what's the use of knowing her name?

Curiosity getting the better of him, Bo looked to the side. She was still in the shower, excellent. Picking up the clear orange bottle, he read the label. Molly Ramelovich. Yeah, Roxanne's a better stage name than that any day. Continuing on further, he read some of the label out loud.

"Agenerase," he read curiously, then mouthing the words as he read further down the bottle, "Protease inhibitor... take with food four times daily... for treatment of symptoms of Human Immunodeficiency Virus..."

HIV. Fucking AIDS man, you just signed your own death certificate.

"Fuck," Bo said as a wave of terror went through his body, "oh fuck oh fuck oh FUCK!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Roxanne asked harshly from the doorway. She was wrapped in a towel with wet locks of blonde hair falling all around her face. It would have been unbelievably sexy had she not been a carrier of the deadliest disease known to mankind.

"You're infected," Bo accused as he threw the pill bottle to her feet.

She looked down with bugged-out eyes, then to Bo, "I don't know for sure, I had a close call and they-"

"So you don't know," he accused even further, "but you're still out here and you're still fucking and getting other people sick?"

"I'm sorry," Roxanne pleaded as she let the towel drop to the floor, "we were safe, I made you use a condom, it was safe..."

"But you're still doing this," he accused, almost yelling, "you're still putting people, you put me in fucking danger! You knew about this, you've killed me, and I don't want to fucking die!"

"I'm sorry," she replied as tears began to fall down her cheeks, "I have to do this..."

"Just, stop," Bo said as he pulled his shirt on, grabbing the jacket from the chair across the room and forcing his shoes on haphazardly, "just not another fucking word. I'm fucked, I'm bloody fucked, and you're sorry? Just, fuck."

"Please," she pleaded as she walked over to grab his arm, "please don't tell anyone, I need the money. I've got a kid..."

Shaking her off, Bo pushed the pitiful, crying tart to the floor and prepared to strike her. She's fucking infected you mate, and she's the one crying? She ruined your life, promising career ahead of you, it's not right, it's a bloody crime if there ever was one before...

He let his arm fall with a sigh. No, it's not her fault. She's sick, but she's doing what she's doing because she has to; of everyone here it's Karen's fault, it's Mike's fault. Fuckers set you up, they didn't know, but they fucking set you up-

Angrier and more frightened than he'd ever known possible, Bo stormed from the hotel room, leaving the naked, bawling whore on the floor and wishing he'd never gone to prom in the first place.

* * *

Graduation day started out as one of the happiest he'd known in a long time. After going to the local Planned Parenthood to get an HIV test, the following weeks were just a blur of fear and images of his own rotting death. Then on the morning of graduation, he'd gotten the call that said his test results came back, and that they came back negative. It was a valediction of sorts, he was not going to die here, not now, not ever. Upon getting the call he'd made a pact with God that he'd die on his terms, not on anyone else's. Not on Karen's, not on Big V's, not on Joel's, not on anyone's. Then, of course, all this had to happen... 

Whatever doubt Bo Adrian, a.k.a. Boy 11 had about abandoning his allegiance with his wrestling teammates disappeared as he went over that fateful prom night. The bastards damn near killed you before, they were on the path to doing it again in this "game". They sent you in with the infected tart, probably didn't know it, but friends don't put friends into danger in the first place. They were good mates, loyal to a fault, selfish on all other fronts, but were they anything really beyond that? Was there anything of substance there behind the fun and the partying and the constant boozing?

Bo hoped that Joel had died at the hands of that red-headed monster. It would have made things a lot easier, not having as many devils on the island at the same time. Joel especially worried him; it was he who made the wrestlers as dangerous as they were. By themselves, Karen, Big V., they were good mates, but put Joel with them, and they become monsters just the same. He encouraged the violence, and brought it out in everyone who came into contact with him. Here especially it was dangerous, especially given the villains this "game" had created. Already Joel was a powder keg, then the library girl, and the one-armed Demon... too many people playing this thing, not enough people trying to figure out how to-

Over the rain he could hear the distinct sound of a heavy cough, followed by the person hacking up phlegm and spitting. Bo approached the building slowly. It appeared to be a gas station of some sorts, though the map indicated it to be the motor pool, and the sound came from the other side. Inching around the building, Bo took a quick peek.

He was there, sitting on the hood. The guy looked injured, much of his face was burnt up, and he was sitting out in the rain in little more than a tank top, and happened to be eating an MRE on the hood of an old jeep. His face seemed to be injured pretty badly, and overall he looked like this game had given him a pretty hard time. However, none of that caught Bo's attention. What caught Bo's attention was the fact that this guy had a bright orange strip of fabric wrapped around his right bicep, just like all the rest of those people who were lookin to scarper. Marvelous, absolutely marvelous...

Then again, he's probably not going to be the most forthcoming if you go out there waving around a sledge like that. Finding a niche along the rear wall behind an old oil drum, Bo hid the hammer and his backpack, covering them up with a stray piece of wood. He cracked his knuckles, preparing to approach the boy. The guy wasn't armed by the looks of things, but odds also say he might not be willing to give up the information without a fight. Just hope that ain't the case, otherwise this might be a looooong day...

"Hey," Bo said in as nonchalant a manner possible as he approached the boy.

Gus O'Ryan, a.k.a. Boy 20, spit out the piece of MRE he'd been eating and jumping from the hood of the jeep as he whirled to face Bo.

"What the fuck?" Gus asked idly.

"You're with the people with the orange bands," Bo mentioned as he pointed to the fabric around Gus' bicep, "I hear you're trying to escape and I'd like to get out too."

"Fuck off," Gus said disgustedly, "they're all dead, and you'll be too if you keep looking for them."

"You're lying mate," Bo replied calmly, "I can see it. You're trying to protect them, and that's something I can totally respect, but I want to get out, I'll help you guys, really!"

"Look," Gus said honestly, "I like you Bo, you're strong and can probably kick my ass, so let me just say that if you keep lookin for them, it's gonna lead you nowhere. They're dead, let's go our separate ways and pretend this didn't happen."

"Please," Bo said as he stepped closer to Gus, "I just want to help. I want to get out of here too."

"Just fuck off man," Gus replied, "I'm warning you man."

Bo approached Gus again, getting one step closer than the redneck would have wanted. He wrenched his arm back.

"Look, I just want to know where they are-" Bo said, cut off as Gus slugged him in the face.

"Please man," Bo continued as a thin trickle of blood ran down his lip, "I just want to know-"

"I don't want none of this," Gus said, cutting Bo off and approaching him, "you're good at this, but we're matched pretty even I think. You gonna kill me and I just can't have that happen. I'll make this easy and walk away."

Beginning to move to retrieve his pack, Gus tried to pass Bo. The wrestler was faster, punching Gus in the face. The stunned redneck stumbled backward, landing with his back against a dumpster. Shaking his head from the dull ache, Gus looked to Bo with angry eyes, kicking his backpack to the side as he prepared for battle.

"I'm giving you a choice," Bo said as the two men began to circle each other, "either tell me where they all are, or start eatin this trash can."

"Not this year," Gus hissed back.

"OK," Bo said as he cracked his knuckles and formed two fists, "all right."

Squaring off, the two men circled each other like hungry animals. Although Bo was nearly half a foot shorter than Gus, he was almost pure muscle, gained from years of playing rugby back home and the last year's worth of practice on the wrestling team, all building up to what was a promising future in the English army. Gus was taller and ganglier than the Brit, but he was no less a physical threat. He had been studying to be a firefighter back in the world and was a force to be reckoned with on the obstacle course. For a fistfight, there was no better combination of skills, something that both knew and neither was really looking to push.

Bo swung a fist in a long arc, missing as Gus quickly ducked. He began pummeling Bo, a left to the stomach, a right to the chest and two quick punches to the face. Stumbling, Bo fell on his arse. He winced as pain shot through his body. Of all the places around here that have to be paved over, why here?

He got up, shaking it off as Gus held both fists up in a boxing posture. As he swung in an effort to hit Bo in the face, Bo ducked to the right, slugging Gus in the stomach and delivering three fast yet solid hits to the face. Left, left, right, Gus fell to the ground in a huff. This one's gonna take a while, the redneck mused as he got back to his feet in a defensive posture.

"I don't want to fight you mate," Bo said as Gus took another swing. Bo slapped the clumsy punch to the side.

"Come on!" Gus yelled, trying to pump himself up. He swung again, this time with the other hand, giving Bo yet another shot to slap the clumsy attack to the side.

"Come on!" Gus yelled again as he prepared for another hit.

"I don't want to fight you!" Bo yelled as Gus swung once more, allowing Bo to slap the punch away once more.

"Stop it!" Bo protested.

"No!" Gus shot back with another swing. Bo slapped the attack to the side, then connecting a fist with Gus' face as he tried to stun the other boy. The redneck stumbled to the side in a daze, shaking his head as he looked back into Bo's eyes.

"Just tell me where they are!" Bo said as he prepared to strike Gus again. Looking for a surprise, Gus swung his hand with surprising speed in a powerful backhand to Bo's face. With astonishing reflexes, Gus then grabbed Bo by the head, punching him in his shaved forehead and knocking him to the ground. Bo stumbled back to his feet, meeting another slug from Gus as he fell to the ground in a heap. This ain't worth it mate, you can back out now and things could be all right.

Gus looked down to the near-defeated wrestler with some pity, feeling the rain drop around them. It's the battle, you beat him! You beat his ass down good!

Letting out a free hand, Gus offered to help Bo back to his feet. The British wrestler didn't know what to make of the gesture, but was willing to accept pretty much anything given the circumstances. He took the hand, getting to his feet as Gus helped him with a smile.

"Man, I told you," Gus said as he pulled his arm back again, "I didn't want to be involved!"

He slugged Bo in the face once more, sending the wrestler sprawling. Gus ambled over to the stunned wrestler as he coughed. He pulled Bo by the ear, lifting him to his knees as he howled out in pain. Gus began to take another swing, yet was fast enough to see Bo recover and try to punch him in the crotch. He let both hands drop, catching Bo's fist before it met his valuables.

"You dirty motha-" Gus let out, cut off as Bo swung his head back, connecting hard with Gus' chin. Getting back to his feet, he planted another head butt in Gus' nose, dazing the redneck and sending him to the ground. Tired of fighting and getting frustrated, Bo lifted Gus back to his feet by his tank top, pulling a folded up map from his back pocket and thrusting it in Gus' face.

"Take a look!" Bo commanded, "Just tell me!"

Panting heavily, Gus took the map in hand and looked at it long and hard. Disgusted, he dropped it to the ground and prepared to crush it into the thin layer of mud that coated the concrete of the motor pool.

"NO!" Bo yelled.

Taking the opportunity, Gus grabbed the back of Bo's head and brought it down, kneeing the wrestler in the face. Bo fell to the ground, holding his nose as pain seared through the backs of his eyes. Gus looked to the map in his hand, crumpling the piece of paper and throwing it into the bushes. Minding the pain from the fight, he began to walk back towards his pack. Just call it a day man, get out and call it a day.

Propping himself up with one arm, Bo looked to Gus with pure hate in his eyes. He came here not to be malevolent, he didn't mean for all this to happen, or what was about to happen, but he had to get out of here. This guy was a fountain of information about the escape, and he had to know.

"Fucker," Bo muttered as he got to his feet, running full force into Gus' back. He grabbed the redneck, throwing him to the ground. Then grabbing Gus by the neck of his tank top, he lifted Gus by his left hand and punched him twice in the stomach with his right. Freeing one hand, he slugged Gus in the face, sending him reeling and into the wall of the motor pool. Approaching Gus, Bo hit him once more in the gut.

In retaliation, Gus clasped his hands together, swinging them as he smashed Bo upside the head. Catching the wrestler stunned, Gus swung his hands once more, landing them in Bo's stomach as the boy doubled over from the pain.

Tiring and limping slightly, Gus grabbed Bo's head in both hands, then wrapping his arm around his neck in a powerful lock. He squeezed his arm around Bo's neck as hard as he could, using the headlock to choke the life from the wrestler with limited success. With his powerful hands free, Bo fumbled blindly, grabbing at Gus' face and neck with no success. Gus just squeezed his powerful biceps harder, sucking more oxygen from Bo's body.

Attempting an attack, Bo punched Gus' thigh. No luck, Gus winced slightly but squeezed even tighter. Thinking back to wrestling practice, Bo wrapped an arm under Gus' thigh and another around his waist, lifting him off the ground as the redneck could do nothing but howl in protest. Lashing out with his legs, Gus caught his feet on the cinderblock wall of the motor pool and kicked off, sending both boys to the ground still grappling in a powerful headlock.

Breaking the hold and rolling onto his back next to Gus, Bo pressed his free hand against Gus' face and pushed to the ground, grinding his head into the mud. Retaliating, Gus bit Bo's palm, getting the Brit to howl angrily. Taking the opportunity, Gus rolled to the side and back onto his feet, punching the prone Bo once, twice, keeping him down every time he tried to pull himself back up.

Feeling his head throb, Bo did his best to turn the fight around and grabbed Gus by the foot. Lifting Gus up, he threw the redneck onto his back. Crawling over, beginning to feel more like a wild beast than someone in a street fight, Bo placed both hands on Gus' head and held it tight. Madness almost made him crush the boy's skull, but he had to find out, he had to know. Gus could help him get out, he could tell him the way...

Gus wrapped his hands around Bo's throat, pulling Bo back to reality. With Gus' head in his hands, he slammed it to the ground twice, spraying streams of mud every which way. On instinct, he pulled on the redneck's ears, getting Gus to scream out as he could feel his skin stretch. With all his strength, he pushed Bo off from on top of him, then rolling on top of the wrestler with pure hate in his eyes. He propped himself up with just his hands, dropping a knee into Bo's crotch as he howled out in pain. Not satisfied with the pain, Gus slammed his knee into Bo's crotch four more times, each time getting a more strangled response as the pain began to blind the seasoned wrestler. In the back of his head, Bo thought briefly about how it was against the rules. Then again, this is a no rules sort of deal, isn't it?

Nearly paralyzed with the hurt, Bo lay on the ground, nursing his battered testicles as Gus got up. The dazed redneck began searching for something, anything that could be used to finish Bo off. Piece of wood? No. That bottle below the jeep? Maybe. Pipe from the back of the jeep? Yeah, that's the ticket, grab the pipe and beat his head in, easy as it gets, just like Anna.

As Gus got up, Bo found the presence of mind to lock his legs around the rednecks, intertwining them and throwing Gus off balance and back to the ground. The pair separated, each rolling to the side and getting to their feet. They started to circle each other in a similar manner to which they started. Bo would have laughed if he didn't just have the crap beat out of him; this was one long fucking fight.

Ducking down, Bo grabbed a stray piece of wood from the ground, swinging it in a long arc at Gus' midsection. He dodged back, pulling his stomach back to avoid impact. Swinging again, Bo spun his body entirely around with the momentum, while Gus backed up against one of the decrepit jeeps. Looking around frantically, he grabbed the old beer bottle that had been on the ground near the base of the jeep and held it threateningly in Bo's direction. Come on, Gus thought, come on, take your best shot, I can cut you real good.

Bo swung the long piece of wood, missing Gus by a mile but shattering the jeep's windshield. A stray piece of glass cut Gus' arm, causing a thin line of blood and for the boy to howl out.

"Oh man," Bo said as he dropped the piece of wood (though he was laughing a bit), "I'm sorry!"

"Man, you fuck!" Gus threatened back, smashing his beer bottle against the jeep and throwing it away. Lunging towards Bo, he knocked the pair of them against the jeep, rolling them off and to the ground once more. On his feet, Bo pulled Gus back up, punching him in the gut, backhanding him, and then punching him against the jeep once more.

"Just tell me where they are!" he yelled as he approached the wounded redneck, "Tell me!"

When Bo got within range, Gus slammed his foot down on the other man's, not even stopping to hear him scream. Grabbing him by the thigh and shoulder, he lifted Bo almost over his head, then dropping him to the ground with a satisfying thud.

Bo lay nearly unconscious, staring up in the sky as the rain fell steadily around him. He couldn't see or hear Gus, thinking that the other man had disappeared. Instead, another moment brought a dark silhouette against the even darker clouds. He tossed the crumpled piece of paper that was Bo's map to his chest, then spitting on the downed wrestler.

"Fuck you," Gus said through a now rasping voice. He stumbled away, wobbling back and forth as he made his way to the motor pool wall. Panting heavily, he found the cinderblock wall of the motor pool and used it for balance. Gus knew street fights. Shit, he'd put a guy in the hospital before after some drunken brawl, but this, this was new shit entirely. Bo fought to the bone, he'd be one of the last around at this rate. He could outlast Holt, he could outlast Vasquez... hell, he might even outlast Joel at this point. He was smart enough to abandon the psycho, he might have more goin on than we-

Pain seared through Gus' body as Bo attacked from behind. He punched Gus in the kidney, hard. Gus responded by elbowing Bo in the shoulder, but Bo was quicker with the next attack, slamming a fist into Gus' kidney once more. Grabbing the other boy bodily, Bo flipped Gus over his shoulder and onto the ground, hard. No more games, not now.

Reaching for the beaten redneck on the ground, Bo wrapped his arm tightly around Gus' neck.

"Tell me where they are, or so help me I will snap your neck like matchsticks," Bo threatened.

Tired, sore, and knowing he was beat, Gus finally gave in.

"Mess hall," he croaked, "they're in the mess hall you fuck."

Like that, he passed out in the grime and mud. They're in the mess hall, salvation, freedom, available at the mess hall. I just got the crap kicked out of me for two simple words? Oughta just kill Gus right now, get it over with and make everyone's day that much happier.

No, can't do that. You got away from Joel and the crew because you're better than that mate. You can't do this, not like them.

Painfully, Bo collected both of their backpacks and slung them over his left shoulder, then moving around the side of the building and retrieving his sledgehammer. Going back to the body, he contemplated the choice once more. Leaving him for dead or just killing him would be a damn sight easier than dragging him back to the mess hall where all the other escapees were, but then again, they probably wanted to see him. He wore an orange armband like the rest of them, and they would treat him like one of the gang.

Still, Bo hoped they wouldn't be angry at him for beating Gus up pretty bad.


	47. Hour 42: 19 Contestants Remaining

Hour 42

19 Contestants Remaining

For the last time on the second day of the Battle Royale, the speakers broke in loudly around the island to pull off the announcement of the dead.

"Hey hey kiddies, you know the time so pardon the rhyme, but I'm here to tell you all that's gone down. Well, aside from the rain that is, that's gotta be a bitch. I wouldn't know, I'm dry in here, but you're all crafty and creative, you'll find your way to stay out of the rain."

As he turned a sheet of paper, JJ continued, "I must say that you guys are seriously disappointing us, come on, only three kills in the last six hours? That's fucking pitiful, I haven't seen anything that bad since I flunked out of that community college. Anyhow, since we have to do this here's the score. First killed was Boy 13, Mike Vriess, shot to shit by Joel and Katie, but since she wound up turning his head into a big steaming pile of shit, this one goes to Miss Snyder. Next to go we have Girl 17, Miss Carrie "CC" Collins, sliced and diced and everything else a Jinsu knife can do real good by our friend Katie Snyder. Well done, cheap slut got what was coming her way. Anyhow, last to go was none other than Girl 7, your class president, Anna Rourke, who had her head cracked in by Gus O'Ryan by the best we can tell. Lesson to you all, the only way out of here is either in a body bag or covered in the blood of your friends. You try to break the rules, you're guaranteed a body bag. Make your choice. Anyhow, all that aside, the best kill award of the period goes to none other than Miss Snyder, Katie, you can pick up your reward down by the radio tower. You know where to go."

He could be heard to take a swig from a bottle of whiskey as the needle to another album came down on the record.

"As for me," JJ continued, "I'm off for the night, retiring to a bottle of JD and a copy of Hustler. See y'all at six tomorrow morning."

As he pushed the microphone away, the record caught on with an odd, reverberating guitar riff and the distinctive voice of Mr. Johnny Cash.

"There's a man goin' 'round takin' names.

An' he decides who to free and who to blame.

Everybody won't be treated all the same.

There'll be a golden ladder reaching down.

When the man comes around.

The hairs on your arm will stand up.

At the terror in each sip and in each sup.

For you partake of that last offered cup,

Or disappear into the potter's ground.

When the man comes around..."

* * *

She felt on the verge of vomiting. First Sky, then Naomi (of course you did that, so it probably doesn't count), now Anna... The Swim Six were gone. First it lost it's heart when Sky was murdered, it's brawn when she held Naomi by the throat underneath that shallow stream, and now Anna, had her head crushed in by some ignorant redneck hick. As well, the fact that Anna was no doubt formulating a plan of sorts to get out made it that much more shocking. She would die here, on this stupid island, for no good reason. And now, now there was no room for hope. No room to stretch out and hope for a happy ending, not here, not ever. She was going to die here, and it made her sick.

She rubbed the initials that she'd tattooed onto the side of her hand along with the others. S6, for The Swim Six. Maybe it would've been better if she hadn't cut herself for them. Sure, it was the perfect bonding experience, the perfect way to show solidarity and camaraderie, but now it was only pain. It brought back memories of people she'd never see again, people whose bodies and minds had been distorted by this competition... it just wasn't fair. None of it was.

Lindsay Hill, a.k.a. Girl 23 wiped a tear from her eye, but let it mix along with the rest of the drizzle. For the better portion of the game, they had been following the river that practically bisected the island in an effort to find some people who were willing to help, hoping beyond hope that anyone had a plan for escape. Unfortunately, all they'd seen was death, stumbling upon the bodies of Gervase, Peter and the entirety of the Brat Pack. It was more than anyone was supposed to see in a lifetime, and it had hit Lindsay particularly hard.

Still, she was in something of a state of shock from murdering her best friend. Naomi... she'd gone insane. Something happened, something made her snap, and Lindsay had to do what she had to do to save the lives of Rudy and herself. Kill or be killed, self defense, and yet no matter what words they'd used to describe it, it didn't make Lindsay feel any better. She'd murdered Naomi. She'd held the girls head underwater until her lungs filled with fluid and her body gone rigid. Every time she closed her eyes she could see Naomi's eyes staring at her from the shallow stream, and it still caused her to shudder.

Then again, some of the shivering probably came from the rain. As soon as the announcement of the crate being dropped on the island, it seemed like the perfect idea to go to the field. Anyone and everyone would be liable to head in the direction of the supplies, it made perfect sense, right? Well, yes and no. The rain had put a damper on their plans, making a trek through the thick jungle next to impossible. After one slide down a collapsed hillside because the mud gave way in the downpour was more than enough sign to stop and catch their breath. So, they'd camped out for a while in one of the base's many sheds. True, it wasn't very inviting, but it was safe. That's the most important thing, it may not be totally dry, it may not smell all that nice, but it was safe... that's all that really matters out here after all. Hiding out, waiting for the rain to die down enough to make travel safe made perfect sen-

SNAP!

Lindsay whirled around, doing her best to hide behind the trunk of a tree.

"Hey, hey," the soothing voice said, "be cool, it's just me."

As her heartbeat slowed, Lindsay peered from behind the tree as the large frame of Rudy Daniels, a.k.a. Boy 18 and her one true love, appeared through a patch of bushes. He held Naomi's revolver defensively, letting it drop as Lindsay came into view. As he caught sight of her, the football player couldn't help but smile broadly.

"You know, I'll never get tired of saying this," Rudy said, "but you've got to be the most adorable thing I've ever seen."

Almost giggling, Lindsay blushed heavily as she responded, "Rudy, you scared me! You almost made me pee myself, and you call me adorable?"

"Sorry if it's true," he replied smoothly, "but you are. You'll always be this cute, I'm positive of it."

"Where did that come from?" Lindsay asked, hoping that the blush would disappear. It didn't.

"A completely random impulse," Rudy said as he approached his girlfriend.

Standing up on her toes, she wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him softly, "I could learn to like those impulses."

"Yeah?" Rudy asked as he planted a quick peck on her cheek.

"Yeah," she replied as she placed a kiss on his chin.

Parting from the larger man, Lindsay implored, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah," Rudy replied as he set down his backpack, "I did, the map got it right for once. Maybe five minutes northwest of the radio tower."

"You saw the radio tower?" Lindsay asked.

"I did indeed," Rudy replied as he fiddled with the zipper of his bag, "it's got the danger zone lights lit up all over it, you'd be lucky enough to find a path around it without getting yourself blown in half."

"But we can make it?" Lindsay asked again.

"Yeah, we can make it easy," Rudy responded.

"Did you see anybody?" Lindsay continued.

Rudy scowled slightly, but tried not to let his girlfriend notice, "You're asking a lot of questions."

"It's keeping me from thinking about hearing that my best friend just got murdered in cold blood," Lindsay replied honestly as she tried to keep the tears back, "so, did you see anybody else?"

"No," Rudy replied after a beat and thoroughly lying through his teeth. He'd found the remains of CC and Mike (if he hadn't heard the announcement, he wouldn't have known who it was, it looked like just another dead white boy) and nearly lost what little lunch he had. He couldn't do that though, he had to stay strong for Lindsay. He'd lost his strength once already and almost lost his love, but his faith was stronger than that. He would not, could not, allow any activity that would lead to harm for Lindsay. It just couldn't happen.

"But..." he said as he reached into his backpack, "I did find these."

Reaching into his bag, he pulled three oranges and held them with pride. If the grove of death had any redeeming qualities, it would be that it was in a well stocked grove of orange trees.

Lindsay squealed, "Iloveyou! Iloveyou! Iloveyou!"

She quickly snatched one from her boyfriend's hand and peeled back the skin with her fingers. Almost ravenously, Lindsay began to eat the pulp of the juicy citrus fruit. To say that it tasted better than the MRE's they'd been surviving on was a gross understatement.

"You like it?" Rudy asked with some amusement.

Lindsay paused, trying to gulp down some of the fruit while figuring out the right words, "The word orgasm comes to mind."

Peeling one of the remaining oranges, Rudy began to eat his with considerably less enthusiasm than his girlfriend. He smiled at her enthusiasm, watching as she peeled back the skin, licking up the juice as it ran down her wrists. She ate it as if it were the greatest thing she'd ever eaten, and in all honesty, it might well have been.

It was good to see her smiling. It had been rough for Lindsay since she killed Naomi earlier in the morning; she'd been in and out the whole days, some times coherent, other times cold and withdrawn. Around noon she had initiated a long conversation about just ending it all. She had given up so much hope, couldn't handle the guilt of murdering her best friend (even if it was in self defense, she still couldn't shake that it was murder for some reason), could not believe that they would escape, and was seriously considering suicide. She'd asked Rudy about using the gun, asked if he would shoot her so she couldn't screw it up.

Of course, he couldn't do it. It took a lot of talking, a lot of faith and a lot of tears to convince Lindsay that suicide wasn't the way out. Rudy couldn't stand to see her that low, but it was inevitable. Things were not looking good.

"How you holding up?" Rudy asked.

"I'm managing," Lindsay said with her eyes cast to the ground.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Rudy continued.

"Yes, there is," Lindsay said, looking back up into Rudy's eyes, "but not now. I don't know if I could hold myself together now if I were to talk about it, so could you just hold up for now? Could you allow me a moment to think this out for myself before bringing it out?"

"Sure," Rudy said as he ate more of his orange, "no problem."

They ate in silence, alternately peeling the fruit, slurping up the flesh and licking the juice from their fingers. As they each finished up their individual oranges, Rudy went to the third and did his best to rip it into two even halves. Instead, he managed to rip one small chunk out of the larger piece and wound up giving the greater piece to Lindsay.

"Listen," Rudy said, "I'm gonna say something and it's not gonna be easy to say and probably not easy to hear, but please bare with me while I get it out, aight?"

Lindsay nodded apprehensively as she began to eat the remaining orange.

"I'm not giving up hope here," Rudy continued, "it's getting down to the wire and people are still killing people, but I know that we're going to be getting out of here. I can't explain it, but it's a feeling I have, an intuition if you must. I just know it. I've got my faith in it, and you've got faith in me, right?"

She nodded silently with a hint of a smile.

"Then we're set I think," Rudy said confidently, "we're going to go to the airfield, we're going to find that crate, we'll arm ourselves to keep safe and we're going to try and find anyone else we can. We're going to see the good and we ain't gonna see the bad, and we're going to leave this thing together."

Lindsay couldn't help it, she had to smile. It was a conclusion that was easy to come by, but she was absolutely, head over heels in love with this man.

"Let's do this," Lindsay said as she gulped down the last piece of orange, "let's just get to the airfield and find our way out of here."

Rudy got up, shifting his weight so he could give Lindsay a free hand. Bracing himself slightly, he helped her to her feet and brought her in for a quick kiss.

"For luck," he rationalized with a smile. Smiling back, Lindsay returned the kiss. For luck.

* * *

"This looks like a graveyard," Lindsay commented from the edge of the tree line as she looked over the airfield. Off to the one end there was that one burned out, halfway exploded corpse of an old cargo plane, while off to the other was that frightening tower with long streaks of decades old rust running down the side. In between there was the football fields long patch of tall grass that was billowing slightly in the breeze. Strewn about were old relics of the base before, old jeeps, an airplane tug, a collapsed hangar that was being consumed by the grass and weeds. It truly did look of death.

Lindsay looked up to her boyfriend a bit warily. Something about this seemed wrong, there should be more people here, they should be out, they should be looking to work together to find a way out of here. This, this was just barren, this was just an old hulking relic of times gone by. This wasn't their salvation. Still, she trusted Rudy. She looked up to his smile as he surveyed the field, feeling his confidence and soaking it in. It helped.

"Thank you," Lindsay said with a bit of a forced smile as she broke the silence.

"For what?" Rudy asked.

"For always being there for me. Thank you for keeping me alive this long, for giving me strength, and, well, keeping me sane. I needed you, and you were there for me."

"I'll always be there for you," Rudy said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "you can count on that.

Getting caught up in the moment, Rudy looked to the sky with a sigh. Still, despite the gloominess of the situation, he saw something that was definitely worth smiling over.

"Will you look at that?" he asked idly.

Brushing some wet locks of hair from her eyes, Lindsay looked to the clouds with an awestruck face. As the rain had died down, a glowing red gash cut across the sky as the setting sun peeked briefly through the clouds. It would have made a great painting, but for the moment it seemed to be a perfect break considering the last day.

"Are we going to be all right?" Lindsay asked hopefully, "I mean, really all right."

"I think so," Rudy said as he marveled at the colors in the sky, "I really do."

As she looked back to the field, Lindsay could see something that caught her eye even more. It was white, it was flat, and it was billowing in the wind above the tall grass.

"I think that's it!" she said excitedly, "that's the crate! That's the parachute!"

She took off like a shot, dodging her way through the tall grass as the water snapped around her. Taken off guard by his girlfriends sudden departure, Rudy did his best to keep up. Walking through the chest-high, wet grass and slogging through ankle deep mud was hard for the large-framed football player. Not like it was any different from a good, tough game, but nearly two days without proper sleep, little food and driving rain had sapped whatever energy he could have managed. He still couldn't help but smile at the energy that Lindsay radiated, even if it was potentially dangerous.

"Lindsay, slow down!" Rudy hollered as she cut through the grass.

"I can see it! I can see it, we're almost there!" Lindsay yelled.

"Wait for me!" he replied with a bit of fear. Don't let her run, don't let her get out of your grasp. If she goes beyond you, she will disappear forever. Just don't let it happen God, please, don't let me lose her.

"I can see it!" she yelled again with a wide smile.

With one foot caught on a vine, Rudy tripped and hit the mud hard, hearing a popping sound akin to a champagne bottle being uncorked. Pushing his hands deep into the mud and lifting himself from the mud, Rudy looked to see his now stationary girlfriend with her back to him.

"Lindsay?" Rudy asked, making his way towards her.

Lindsay turned around with glassy eyes and a frightened look on her face. She held a hand to her neck, almost choking for air with blood gushing through her fingertips. Letting her hand drop down to her chest for a moment, it became rather obvious that there was a small hole on each side of her neck, arterial blood spurting out and soaking her shirt as she looked on terrified.

"LINDSAY!" Rudy yelled as he tried to approach his dying girlfriend. Not even three steps later, a second crack echoed across the airfield, hitting Rudy square in the chest. With blood coming from his lips and a shattered spine, Rudy collapsed to the ground, looking almost wistfully through the grass as Lindsay fell down beside him. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"I'm sorry," Rudy whispered with one of his last breaths. He looked up to Lindsay, trying to remember her beautiful eyes, to see the smile that had lit up even his worst days, yet only seeing the tattered beauty that this game had made her out to be. It wasn't supposed to be like this, where's the happy ending? Where's the happily ever after?

Opening his eyes once more as the darkness began to surround him, Rudy saw Lindsay reaching out with her free hand. Mustering up all the strength he could manage before it fled his body, the football player stretched out his arm to reach for Lindsay. They were too far, fingers inches away. Wincing through pain more extreme than any human should know, Rudy turned his shoulder slightly and was able to touch her fingertips with his own.

As she died and moments before he would reach the same fate, Rudy cracked a warm, gentle smile as he reached a realization. They were together, life may have given them grief, tried to split them up, but at least in death they could be together forever. The next time he would see her, she'd be even more angelic than she already was.

Mere seconds after Lindsay, the love of his life, had perished, Rudy Daniels, a.k.a. Boy 18 in the Battle Royale, 42 to the Braiwood Tigers, died with a smile on his face.

* * *

Rocking her neck back and forth with a satisfying pop, Marie Cooper, a.k.a. Girl 21 looked back through the scope of her hunting rifle and fired one more bullet into each of the bodies, just to make sure. They didn't move, they were indeed dead. Two more down.

Unsheathing the hunting knife from her belt, she proceeded to carve two more notches in the stock of her rifle. There was the giant Mexican, now the black guy and his girlfriend.

She watched idly as the clouds formed across the sky, a bolt of lightning spider-webbing across the sky with a roar of thunder. Marie let a smile cross her face as she watched the rain begin its downpour anew. Charles Whitman... he's got nothing on you.

* * *

"Did you guys hear that?" Lexie Hawk, a.k.a. Girl 20 asked as she strained with a length of chain to break down the door to the plane's cockpit.

"They firing at us?" Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl 5 asked idly.

"No clue," Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy 12 responded, "you girls got that door working yet? I seriously cannot feel my legs."

"Soon man, we're working it out," Lexie replied, "we'll get us all out soon."


	48. Hour 43: 17 Contestants Remaining

Hour 43

17 Contestants Remaining

* * *

Another brilliant blast of white light came from the crack at the bottom of the meat locker door. Seconds later, the deafening blast of the accompanying thunder shook the metal room, scaring its three live occupants more than they could have known possible. Boy # 2, Doug Rodgers, Boy # 21, Michael Baxter and Girl # 11, Jenny Reese huddled together as the cold gusts of wind blasted in. Another bolt illuminated their forms once more, this time the thunder coming even sooner than the first.

"Jesus it's cold," Michael commented.

"How's the arm?" Doug asked.

"Still broken, it's hurting like a son of a bitch," he replied.

"Jenny, how are you doing?"

With darkness all he knew, Doug did his best to listen over the pounding rain and howling winds outside. Over it all, he could hear Jenny whimpering softly as she pressed herself against the wall.

"Jenny, come on, answer me," Doug replied.

Still no response.

"Come on Jenny, please, say something!" Doug pleaded, "Please!"

Another lightning blast illuminated the room, getting Jenny and Michael to cry out in surprise as the thunder shook the room almost simultaneously.

"I'm alive," she responded through stifled tears, "if that's what you're asking."

"Come on, don't freak out on me here," Doug replied.

"Well what am I supposed to do?" Jenny spat back, "Anna's dead, Naomi's dead, Sky's dead, and I'm going to be dead! It's all because of this fucking game and you're telling me not to freak out? Fuck you!"

A rolling blast of thunder knocked them against the wall. Jenny tried to stand up and cross the room with what little light she remembered from the light. Just get out of here, just get out, you have to get out of here. You'll die in here if you don't, this will be your tomb, yes, you'll be buried alive up here, waiting out the hours until they ticked down and cut you in half. What are you going to do, dig your way out? The room's solid metal! The door's almost a foot thick and locked from the other side, how are you going to get out? It's a tomb. This meat locker, it's a fucking grave.

"Come on Jenny," Doug continued, "we need to be together here or we'll die like the rest."

We're already dead, Jenny thought, just, please, leave me alone...

Groping around blindly, Jenny's feet caught on some resistance and sent her sprawling. She howled out as she fell, hitting the ground hard as the air rushed from her lungs.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked.

"Yeah, I just, I just fell," Jenny replied as she reached out to gain her footing. Tripped, you tripped, right, tripped on what? There's not a damn thing in this room besides that chair, but that's on the other end. There's the computer, and, and...

Pressing to the ground to push herself back into a standing position, Jenny found no floor. She found something round, soft, and extremely cold. Oh god, no, you fell on, oh god no, oh god!

"Oh Jesus!" Jenny exclaimed, then shrieking, "It's ANNA! It's ANNA! Oh God!"

Jenny backed against the wall as the tears flowed freely from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, please God, I'm sorry, I don't belong here, I want to go home. I want to go home mom and dad, I want to go home, please!"

A crack of thunder illuminated the room from the crack under the door, causing Jenny and Michael to cry out again in surprise. Jenny's tears became full-fledged bawling as the thunder came down and shook the room.

"I want to go home!" Jenny wailed, "Please, I'm sorry, I don't want to be here!"

"She's lost it man," Michael whispered to Doug.

"We're fucked, we're all going to die here!" Jenny shrieked.

"That's really getting irritating," Michael said.

"We're going to die and you're talking irritating?" Jenny wailed, "Fuck you, fuck all of you, I don't want to die!"

"CAN EVERYONE JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP?" Doug yelled as another blast of lightning illuminated the room. As the thunder faded off into obscurity, silence reigned in the meat locker.

"We're not going to die here," Doug said as he tried to keep a calm voice (a tall order given the circumstances), "not any of us, not now. This escape can work even without Anna. She was our leader, and she was a damn good one at that, but we can't let this be the end of us. She started something that I have every intention of finishing. If we keep doing this, if we keep fighting, we're dead already."

"We can't get out of here though," Jenny practically bawled.

"Never doubt my abilities," Doug said as he tried to appear confident, "for I am invincible. We'll figure something out, we'll-"

As if it were magic, they could hear the lock on the other side being slid in its rusty base. With a slam, it locked into place and the heavy door began to inch open.

"No fucking way!" Michael exclaimed.

Doug was cocky enough to believe that he was invincible and maybe even have some level of magic powers, but even this was a stretch by his standards. He groped around blindly for the gun, only finding the thin metal of his crowbar. It killed Anna, if the person's got ill intentions here, at least you know it works. Jenny broke out of her catatonia to quickly find the meat hook she had used earlier, joining Doug by the door.

"Who is it?" Michael asked.

"Hell if I know," Doug replied.

The door swung open wide just in time for another blast of lightning to frame the figure. They were short and stout, with almost no discernable hair in the darkness. They balanced the weight from one side of their body on what appeared to be a staff of sorts with a club on the end. As he caught sight of them with their weapons raised high, the boy jumped back in surprise.

"Fuck guys, don't kill me!" he yelled with a distinctly thick English accent. Doug recognized it instantly.

"Bo?" Doug asked.

"Yeah, it's me!" Bo Adrian, a.k.a. Boy # 11, replied, "Don't kill me, I'm on your side! I want out of here too!"

Doug was taken by surprise at Bo's response. How'd he know about the escape? Who told him, was he spying? He's dangerous, he was with Joel and company for the game. Then again, maybe he met with Carter or Katherine or Paul, they told him to come here. This is pretty fucked up right here. Give it a shot...

"Are you armed?" Doug asked hostilely.

"What?" Bo asked, squinting his eyes in the darkness.

"Do you have any weapons?" Doug replied.

"Yeah man," Bo replied as he shifted his weight back onto his better leg, "just this hammer here."

"Hand it over."

"Like hell!" Bo replied, "How do I know you won't kill me first?"

"Look," Doug responded, "I thank you for opening the door for us, but you might be better off just getting the hell out of here. How'd you know about us?"

Bo's shoulders fell as he admitted his own part in the Battle Royale, "I was with Joel and my mates and we came across some other people wearing that."

Bo pointed to the bright orange arm and headbands that Jenny and Doug wore, "We came across The Tank earlier and he told us about the escape, and, Joel killed him. Joel went nuts and I figured I'd be better off on the side that could get out of here than the side that was going to get me killed."

"He told you we were here?" Jenny asked. That wasn't Frank, he was too good. He was a hero, he saved your life, he would never give it up, never!

"No," Bo replied, "I found something you lost, and we talked it out, and, he told me."

"Who?" Doug asked coolly, though he knew the answer to the question already.

Stepping to the side, Bo pointed to the unconscious boy he had set up on one of the kitchen's tables.

"Motherfucker!"

* * *

It took less than ten minutes to indoctrinate Bo into SABRE and give a quick history. Doug quickly laid out the plan for escape, the extensive maps they'd made of cameras and escape routes, and everything that had gone down before, and after, they'd gotten trapped in the meat locker. There was even enough of the tattered orange shirt to make him a headband.

"I say we grease him right now, save us all a lot of time," Jenny said as she fumbled with the meat hook in her hands. She couldn't take her eyes off of the battered boy, pointing a flashlight directly in his face. Duct tape was wrapped tightly around his wrists, and they had used this to lock his arms over a sprinkler head on the ceiling. Gus' toes were inches above the nearest table, and he kicked weakly to gain the footing that he'd never find. His tired eyes looked on as the four members of SABRE mulled around in front of him. The boy wanted to yell out, scream, reason with them, anything better than this. Anything was better than hanging by the wrists and waiting for an uncertain fate. The tape they had placed over his mouth made that impossible, so all he could do was watch, and listen.

"Whoa, what the hell?" Michael asked, wincing at the pain in his wrist, "we're not going to murder anyone, that's not what we're here for, remember? We're here to save lives, not end them, remember?"

"Dude, didn't you see what this cheap son of a bitch just did?" Jenny asked angrily as she lifted the meat hook back up, "he put us in that hell, he broke your wrist, he murdered Anna! FUCKING MURDERER! What's it like on the other side bitch, come on, what's it like?"

"Are we really having this discussion?" Michael asked Doug. Doug looked up quizzically as he fumbled around with the box of bullets and loaded the revolver that had been dropped in the meat locker. His fingers shook slightly; it was only a few hours ago when Gus had used the same gun to try and shoot the rest of them, all after murdering Anna with one swift blow.

"Come on," Doug replied as he finished loading Gus' revolver and swung the drum into place, "let's not talk about this here. Dining room."

Stepping up, from his seat, Doug led the way into the dining room. Jenny, Michael, and even Bo were soon to follow. This is great, just great. You're smaller than all of them, less charismatic than Anna, weaker than Bo or Gus, yet they all follow you. You're the new leader. You're the new Anna. The thought gave Doug cause to shiver. He was no leader; in D&D he was always a cleric, never an adventurer or a knight of any sorts. He was the support guy, not the one in the front lines giving the orders and doing the fighting. Now... things are changing. Life and death on paper was one thing, nobody cared about paper. Life and death in the real world, a whole other issue. They trust you and respect you for intelligence, let's just hope it has base now...

"Why don't we just kill him now?" Jenny asked angrily as she sat down on one of the long dining tables, "We have him here now, we have to!"

"Jesus," Michael replied as he cradled his wrist, "we didn't come here for this! We joined together because we thought we could beat this thing, we joined together so we would get out of here _together!_ If we turn on each other-"

"He turned on us first," Jenny spit out, "he took that crowbar and caved Anna's skull in, he destroyed our chances for getting out of here, and you still don't think he should die?"

"No," Michael said, "I don't. We have him tied up now, he's perfectly safe. We can keep him like this until we escape and just take him with us."

"Don't you get it?" Jenny shot back as she waved the meat hook for emphasis, "he killed Anna!"

"And he's not going to kill any of us!" Michael replied.

"This guy broke your fucking wrist, and you don't want to see payback?" Jenny asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"I have compassion," Michael replied with a sigh, "something you don't. This game has claimed so many lives already, our classmates have murdered each other with no reason, and if we stoop to that level, then escaping is absolutely pointless. We'll become part of this game. Come on Bo, Doug, can't you see what I'm saying?"

Bo looked to the floor, then to the doorway leading back to the kitchen.

"Gus' got a lot of fight in him," Bo said, "he fights to the bone. I could go either way really, it's up to you guys."

Michael looked off disgustedly, then to Doug as he began to plead.

"Doug, come on," Michael asked, "please, man, don't do this. We're better than this..."

"He has to go," Jenny said spitefully, "we can't keep a traitor like that around, he'll do it again!"

"Please..." Michael pleaded. His eyes said it all, boring directly into Doug's soul.

Shuddering, Doug looked away. He had to make a decision that would determine whether a man would live or die. It was not something he wanted to make, but unfortunately Gus made it rather easy. There were two sides of the matter as far as he could see. On the one hand, killing Gus would rid them of one more villain, a traitor, and would feel pretty damn good. On the other hand, taped up as he was, he would be rather docile and they could easily afford to take him on the escape boat for freedom. Who knows, maybe he even saw the light and would be willing to be a helpful ally in their escape. God knows he already knows how to kill people.

Regardless of the two sides, Doug found the problem to have an unbelievably easy solution.

* * *

Gus O'Ryan, a.k.a. Boy # 20, looked up wearily as the lynch mob entered the kitchen and approached him with eyes that could cut through steel. Doug held the pistol, the revolver that had started out the game in his possession and now was probably going to be used to end his life. Jenny held onto the meat hook with certain fury, holding it almost as if it were an extension of her arm, while Bo simply came forth like their loyal pit bull. Michael held back, leaning against a wall as he cradled his ruined wrist.

Jenny swung the meat hook, using the curved end as a blunt object, cracking Gus hard in the ribs. He howled as bone snapped, bringing him back to full consciousness.

"Get him down," Doug said with a wavering voice, at which point Bo obediently lifted Gus from his bindings and let him drop hard to the floor. With one foot on his head for support, Jenny ripped the tape from Gus' mouth as he howled wildly. Bo and Doug each grabbed one of the battered redneck's feet, dragging him towards the door as he protested.

"Please," Gus begged, "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking straight, guys, I'm sorry! Please!"

They dragged him past a table, not stopping as his head clanged off its leg.

"Please guys," Gus begged further, "it was stupid, I, I didn't think what I was doin out too clearly. Please, I can help you! I can help escape! Doug, Michael, please, help me! Someone!"

They dragged him screaming out the door and outside into the driving rain. Michael found himself left to just watch the empty doorway as he held a flashlight in hand. He declined the opportunity to witness the execution. This isn't right, this wasn't supposed to happen.

"Get him on his knees!" Michael could hear Doug command.

"Please," Gus begged, "don't do this! I was stupid, I can help you! Please! I just didn't want to die, please!"

"I said on your knees!" Doug yelled.

"I'll get him," Jenny's voice said with particular spite. For a brief moment, Michael thought he heard the sound of something heavy sinking into flesh (actually the meat hook Jenny had picked up lodging itself in Gus' belly), followed by the high pitch sound of a human scream that let continued with a distinctive gurgling. They were letting him suffer, the sick fu-

BAM!

The screaming stopped.

"What happened?" Michael asked quizzically as he buried his head in his good hand. He knew it was stereotypical, he knew it made him weak, but he had to do it, he had to cry. "What happened to us?"


	49. Hour 44: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 44

16 Contestants Remaining

Joel would be one of the first people in the world to admit he didn't know very much, but if there was one thing he knew and knew in spades, it was tits. Big ones, small ones, ones that were firm and ones that sagged, nipples of all shapes, sizes and colors of the rainbow. If he knew what the word meant, he probably would have considered himself a connoisseur of breasts. Of course, although he knew and had known all shapes and sizes, he only really appreciated the big ones. Not only the big ones, but the ones that practically burst at the seams, the ones that bounced every time a girl took a breath or turned slightly. Put those underneath a head with blonde hair (real or fake, Joel didn't care, so long as it was blonde), and Joel was in his equivalent of heaven.

Standing off to the side of the dance floor with the rest of his goons, Joel found himself in yet another of his many makeout sessions with CC. Sure, she was dumb and liked to buy too much, but she had a fine body, massive, perfect tits, and was, well, for lack of a better word, limber.

"This music fucking blows!" Mike yelled across the busy dance floor to the DJ as he started up another go of 'Tainted Love'.

"Hey Mike," Bo said, "lighten up mate, it ain't worth it."

"Like hell it is!" Mike slurred, "We want something from the last century! The people demand Free Bird!"

Joel looked over CC's shoulder with slight disgust, then continuing the lip lock as he ground his hands roughly over her breasts.

"You're pissed man," Bo said as he tried to restrain Big V, "ease up with it mate."

"Yeah," Mike said, "but I'm always angry."

Joel began to wish that the music was louder. All he wanted to do was get some ass out here, have some fun later and then get some more ass, but these dicks were making things difficult. He was about to tell them to shut the fuck up, but CC pulled him in closer and started kissing him harder.

"Not angry you twat," Bo replied, "I mean you're drunk, ease up before you get us all thrown out."

"Well," Mike responded, "I'm always drunk too."

"That you are," Bo replied, "but this tux cost good money and I'll be damned if I'm getting kicked out of prom and have it all go to waste."

Assholes, Joel thought as he continued to kiss CC, couldn't keep it quiet and just get shitfaced in peace like Lenny or Edgar?

"That'd be your fault, not mine," Mike said with a cocky grin.

"That doesn't make any sense," Bo replied.

"For fucks sake, give me some credit," Mike begged.

"Fuck off," Bo replied angrily.

Looking at his watch over CC's shoulder, Joel could see that it was time.

"Come on," Joel said as he pushed CC to the side, "we're ditching this joint."

Joel watched as CC looked over to protest, but hushed her up with one harsh glare.

"Where we goin?" Lenny asked.

"There's a party at that hick's place," Joel continued, "not a big place but he's got a full liquor cabinet and he's got a keg."

"I am there!" Mike said enthusiastically.

"You're already there asswipe," Joel said, "who's drivin who?"

"I'll take Mike," Karen said out of nowhere with her eyes still fixed on the dance floor, "he's gonna have enough trouble standing up as is and probably won't last the night if he's driving. Bo, you're comin with us, I need someone to hold Big V down while I drive."

"We're leaving?" Bo asked.

"Yeah," Joel said harshly as he motioned with his head towards the door, "this party's going nowhere and I wanna be somewhere the cops are going to bust up. Let's go."

Looking down dejectedly, CC followed Joel and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Honey," CC protested, "I was kind of thinking that maybe we could spend some time together, you know, away from everyone else?"

Joel looked off disgustedly, then back to his girlfriend. He was too lazy to mask the disdain, though tried to speak in a more optimistic voice.

"Look," Joel responded, "We'll spend some time together later, I promise. If it'll shut you up, I promise. Swear to god."

CC looked on in shock as Joel continued, "We're gonna ride in Lenny's car. You coming?"

She looked to the floor extremely hurt, tears forming at the corners of her eyes as Joel approached her.

"Come on, get your ass over here," he responded, "party's gonna get goin soon and I want to get fucked up while I still can."

CC sighed, resigning herself in a way she was rather used to, then going up to join her boyfriend. Joel cracked a bit of a smile. Yeah, they'd spend some time together later, real fun.

He had to wonder if he really missed her. I mean, yeah, girl was useless except for a good fuck (even though she wasn't always great then either, at least she looked good), but something wasn't quite normal without her. Could it be that he missed her? No, no, can't be. Nothing to miss, just a high voice, always wanting the wallet, ok, she had fabulous tits, give her that, but no, too needy. Yeah, always too needy, always wanting to cuddle up, cling together, always wants to tou-

"ATTENTION GIRL # 2 SNYDER, KATIE," the loudspeaker squawked by the radio tower, "GO TO THE METAL BOX ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE BUILDING TO COLLECT YOUR PRIZE. IF THIS IS NOT GIRL # 2 SNYDER, KATIE, THEN YOUR BELT WILL BE DETONATED WITHIN FIVE SECONDS. HAVE A NICE DAY."

The sound shocked him back into reality as he listened from the forest's edge. Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23 had won his prize already, if it could be called a prize. It was almost fucking useless, just a sword with a fancy handle, but, worst comes to worse it could have served it's purpose in the close combat. It had done it's job when the red-haired bitch attacked earlier, and, well, made his chances for survival skyrocket when they decided to team up. That was good.

Shifting his weight slightly, Joel took the pressure off his bad ankle. Fuck. He'd earned the sword all right and fair and square when he offed Francisco along with the rest of those idiots earlier in the morning, but, well, he just made one bad move too many. He turned his back on Francisco, thought the guy was dead when he wasn't, and got an ice pick to his Achilles tendon for his troubles. Fucking spic, not gonna make that mistake again. That was just you being stupid, and him being an asshole. Don't do that again. You've made mistakes so far, you got hit by Francisco, you nearly died with Katie, and would be sliced and diced or shot to shit right now if she wasn't dumb enough to believe you a servant of God. Sure, she's pretty hot, but a complete psycho.

"I've retrieved my weapon," Girl # 2, Katie Snyder said calmly as she returned to Joel. The rain pounded down around her and Joel blasted his flashlight nearly in her face, yet she seemed unfazed by anything. That was one of the few things that genuinely creeped Joel out. This girl was ferocious when fighting, but as cool as it got the rest of the time.

"Anything we can actually use?" Joel asked.

"I received two extra clips for my AK-47," Katie responded, then pointing two her belt, "and these."

Looking to the two small weapons jammed into her belt, Joel wanted to laugh. There were two of them, narrow three pronged knives by the looks of them, even more useless than his sword by the looks of them.

"That's it? That's all we got?" Joel asked with contempt.

"These are sais," Katie replied, "and they are a very formidable weapon."

"In close fighting I'll take your word," Joel continued, "but in a gunfight those aren't gonna do you any good."

"In a gun fight," Katie continued smoothly as she approached Joel, "I took your woman on with a scythe, and nearly took your life with the same. A blade in the hand of a skilled person is ten times as deadly as any gun in the hands of an unskilled person."

"And I bet you're as skilled as it gets," Joel stated with a bit of sarcasm.

"You've seen what I can do," Katie replied as she continued to walk into the forest, then commanding, "No one is foolish enough to attempt and traverse this island in rain like this, we must find a place to wait until light before we continue with our mission."

"I know a place," Joel said as he tried to catch up and pull out his map at the same time, "the officer's quarters, maybe half an hour from here. It's about as comfortable as it gets here, there's a roof, some alcohol stored away and beds, I mean real beds, they smell bad, but they work."

"I don't sleep," Katie stated simply, "but if it is a place you are familiar with and one you know the exits to, then I can think of none better."

She continued walking without so much as a glance at her map as Joel pointed his flashlight in her direction.

"Do you know where you're going?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied without any explanation, continuing on even faster. Joel did his best to catch up, minding the limp that was admittedly holding him back and simultaneously watching Katie's back. Yeah, chose a real conversationalist here, right? Girl don't talk none, gives the orders instead of taking them. This is everything wrong with the women, one of the things that did admittedly irk Joel. He didn't mind the silence part per se, but being used to giving the orders, he was having a tough time actually having to take them for once. This girl, she would just go out, give the orders and walk on like there was no tomorrow without a damn for what Joel had in mind. Well, that's gotta change! Right here and now just stand up and show her who's the boss! Sure, she's got the machine gun, but, you got the shotgun and-

She stopped in her tracks, drawing the AK-47 up to her shoulder. Joel could neither see nor here anything, swinging his flashlight around in a wide arc to confirm it. Yeah, no one there.

"What's the holdup?" he asked.

"There's someone watching us..." Katie replied as she readied to fire into the forest.

Wonderful, Joel thought, just wonderful this situation she's gotten you into...

Someone was watching Joel, and he frankly didn't much like it. It didn't bother him that the prom after-party sucked, no, that was something of a side issue by this point. The liquor cabinet was mostly cleared out by the time he got in, and the keg, well, had at least two dozen latchers-on to be fought through. Not that Joel couldn't do that of course, knocking people to the side was his livelihood and he wouldn't have had any problems doing it with these pussies. He was running a nice buzz, nowhere near as screwed up as he wanted to be. Even emptying out the flask Lenny, Mike and Edgar had been splitting earlier didn't make it the evening any more exciting.

Mike's arrival was the only real high point in the night. Karen brought him in, dressed down from his prom suit to a tank top and some jeans (turns out he puked all over himself and Karen had fun hosing him down at some gas station, Joel laughed thinking about Mike bouncing his head off the curb), and carrying the paper bag that would lead to their later night fun if all turned out well. It was something they'd been curious about and wanting to try for a long time, and, well, this seemed like the perfect night to do it. They had it planned out to a t, and god-willing it would be a highlight of their senior year.

That is of course if that bitch stops looking at me! She'd just been sitting over by the speaker as it blared out Aerosmith, singing Walk This Way, a song Joel normally liked, except this time without Run DMC. Song was wasted without the rap, fuck. Wasted night.

"What you lookin at?" he yelled above the music to the bitch across the way. She didn't respond, instead just looking back with a stupid grin. She took a sip off her own beer and just smiled back that toothy, wolf-like smile.

"I said, what you lookin at bitch?" he yelled again.

She only smiled back wider, taking a sip from her beer before responding, "Someone who's gonna look mighty sore without his team jacket after the next drug test."

That did it for Joel, sending him out of the couch like a bronco coming right out of the gates.

"Oh, you think you're funny bitch?" Joel asked as he raised his voice to almost impossible levels. Concerned, CC got up from the couch and tugged on Joel's shoulder.

"Come on baby," she said, "please..."

He pushed her to side, not even watching as she stumbled over her gown and fell to the floor on her ass.

"Yeah, I might," the bitch responded with glowing eyes as she set down her beer. A small crowd began to gather as she also stood up.

"So you wanna start something?" Joel responded, then yelling as he pulled his shoulders back in a defensive stance, "COME ON, WANNA START SOMETHIN?"

Ashley Vasquez couldn't help but laugh as she teetered her way, throwing her own shoulders back as she put her arms out as she mocked Joel, "Ooh, very scary. Think you can do all this and get me to back down, puh-leaze, I CAN GET LOUD TOO!"

The room broke out in laughter as Ashley taunted the drunken wrestler, getting the rage that he normally did his best to control to boil over. The rage he'd been told to take out in the wrestling wring, the kind he tried to keep in check yet rarely did. It came out.

He balled up one solid fist and aimed to plant it squarely between Ashley's smug eyes. Although very drunk herself, Ashley was faster and ducked it quickly, delivering two quick punches directly to Joel's gut (he hadn't counted on the fact that her uncle was a semi-professional middleweight boxer and Ashley had spent quite a lot of time with him). As he made another assault with a fist that normally would have broken bones, she quickly jumped to the side and landed a couple stinging jabs to Joel's belly and shoulder. She seemed to make an effort not to really do any damage, just give Joel something to think about, but he was enraged. He grabbed her by the waist and threw her into the wall, causing a gouge in the drywall that would have probably pissed off Gus had he not been passed out three rooms over. Ashley walked back to the wrestler a bit dazed and getting reasonably pissed herself, actually seeming to get into the fight.

Then the sirens came.

"Cops are coming!" someone yelled.

"Everybody get the hell out of here!" another shrieked.

Joel took the opportunity to wind up and land one powerful uppercut to Ashley's jaw, causing her to falter on her feet. As blood came from her lips, she fell to the ground in a heap. Joel didn't know if she was unconscious or dead or what, but he won, and the bitch was down for the count. Awesome.

"Hey boss!" Mike yelled from the fray as everyone began to vacate the house and the sirens came nearer, "This way!"

Joel followed Big V out the redneck's house and onto the front lawn.

"Over here," Joel motioned over towards Lenny's car. Lenny, god bless the fool, was a competent, albeit rather foolish wrestler. He was driving this car proudly for one last night, some clunker from the 80's whose appearance more than made up for it's lack of any power under the hood. It was, as Lenny said, on loan from his cousin (even though they were more like brothers) who had been in jail for some gang related armed robbery. On appeal, he had recently been released, and although Lenny had been proud to have him back, he knew he'd be missing the car. Prom night was supposed to be his one last hurrah with the vehicle... and yet he lay passed out on the back seat of the car drunk as could be and liable to blow chunks all over himself any second now. He'd given Joel the keys earlier for safekeeping, and now more than ever Joel was glad for the dumb luck.

Joel jumped behind the wheel, while Mike was quick to follow in the shotgun seat as his boss revved up the engine and shot the vehicle down the street before the first of the cop cars could arrive.

"Now that was intense," Mike replied with the cockiest of grins, "I mean, that was awesome, you took the bitch down!"

"Damn right I did," Joel said with a confident smile.

"Hey, think we should go back? Get Edgar, Karen and CC?"

"Fuck 'em, they'll find their own way home," Joel replied, then looking over to his edgy partner, "you got the stuff?"

"Yeah," Mike replied quickly, "I got the stuff, I got it here. We gonna wait for the heat to die down?"

"No, we ain't gonna wait for the heat to die down," Joel responded, "we'll do it on the other side of town."

Mike looked on like a kid getting ready for Christmas morning, "Man, I've always wanted to do this, see what it's like. Think it's gonna be a rush?"

"Oh hell yeah it's gonna be a rush," Joel said as he watched out for traffic, "it's a rush when we make it one. In and out, that's how we go."

"Awwwww yeah," Mike said as he opened the brown paper sack. Joel looked over to confirm its contents. Yeah, all there. Two gray sweatshirts, two ski masks, and one revolver...

Joel tried his best to brace his flashlight alongside the shotgun as he pulled out the folding stock and brought it to his shoulder, but couldn't manage it all. Katie, just stood calmly as she held her AK-47 high, ready to strike like a snake.

"I don't see anyone," Joel hissed, "You sure?"

"Doubt me and you will reap the consequences," Katie replied, never taking her eyes from the forest. Come on, where is she looking?

"There's no one there," Joel said. Katie almost turned around to look at Joel to correct him on how obviously wrong he was when they heard the cackling. It was a masculine voice, high and echoing through the trees. It stopped for another moment, causing pause and maybe a little fear for Joel. He dropped the flashlight in an effort to pump the slide. The wrestler considered picking it up, but became rigid and got back to his feet as it spoke.

"Darkness falls across the land, the midnight hour is close at hand," the high voice commanded from the darkness, "Creatures crawl in search of blood, to terrorize y'awl's neighborhood..."

"What the fuck?" Joel asked idly. All he could see was pitch black and trees, the voice seemingly coming from the woods themselves. Katie defensively took aim with her AK-47, firing off a long burst into the trees in the direction of the voice.

"And whosoever shall be found, without the soul for getting down," it continued from directly behind them, "Must stand and face the hounds of hell, and rot inside a corpse's shell..."

"How'd it do that?" Joel asked again as he whirled around, firing three shots into the darkness. Katie followed, firing another long burst into the trees. They couldn't hear him move, they couldn't see him flinch. There was darkness and rain, the trees acting as pitch black pillars that stretched endlessly into the skies.

"The foulest stench is in the air, the funk of forty thousand years," the voice added from another direction than before, much louder, and much closer, "and grizzly ghouls from every tomb, are closing in to seal your doom..."

"This is fucked," Joel continued as his eyes widened. He fired a series of four shotgun blasts in the direction the voice came from.

"COME ON! SHOW YOURSELF YOU FUCKING PUSSY! BE A MAN, DO THIS TO OUR FACES!" Joel yelled. Katie looked on nonplussed. Could this be a test? Could He really be speaking? It wasn't likely, but it wasn't something she could really write off. It would explain how Joel's pellets could not touch the voice, how it could change its position one hundred and eighty degrees with the blink of an eye. Still not likely enough. They were being hunted, hunted by someone or something with extreme power and abilities. She knew it, she could taste it, and it almost made her crack a smile. She unleashed a hail of bullets into the darkness, quickly ejecting the spent magazine and loading a new one almost on reflex.

"And though you fight to stay alive, and your body starts to shiver," the voice commanded, even closer than before.

Holding the AK-47 high, Katie could see the shape. It was a dark outline on a seemingly black backdrop, but she could see it, and she could hear the high, powerful voice coming from within it. Moving closer, she prepared for one shot, one to end it all.

"For no mere mortal can resist," the darkened shape said, turning around to reveal bright white eyes and teeth framed by jet black mud and muck, "The evil of... The Thriller."

Moving closer with his shotgun out and ready, Joel pumped its slide, "Fuck you."

Firing almost point blank, he hit the creature in the chest and knocked it to the floor. After a moment's silence, it pushed itself to its feet, looking beyond the mud that covered its face and obscured its features with a malevolent smile.

"I'm not a Jackson fan myself, but that was just plain rude," the creature spoke calmly. Terror filling his eyes, Joel chambered another shot and felt his gun click empty. No fucking way, how'd that happen? He's fucking dead!

With one swift movement, the creature reached behind its back and pulled free a long, slightly curved sword. Swinging it wide, the sheath launched free of the weapon and struck Joel square between the eyes. Trying to fire, Katie brought her assault rifle to her shoulder. The monster was faster, swinging its sword in a horizontal arc in an effort to disembowel Katie. She dodged back, her finger twitching on the trigger reflexively and sending a trail of bullets into the tree. Jumping forward, the monster made a quick cut with its sword and severed the sling that held the AK-47 to Katie's shoulder. With a quick drop kick, it knocked the weapon away from Katie's grasp and into the bushes. If she ever cursed in life, she probably would have chosen that as a good moment. Instead, she chose to unsheathe her scythe in one quick motion and swing it at her attacker.

"Joel," she cried out, "aid me!"

Shaking his head on the ground, Joel watched as the two competitors locked blades together. He had two pistols, oughta use those, just go in blazing and take them both out, right? Ain't right though, this guy took buck shot to the chest, he's dead, he can't be alive, right? Bullets can't stop it. He could've cared less about hitting Katie, but going out blazing without hitting this... thing, would just be a waste of ammo. Fuck that, just do this and do it old school.

Clumsily pulling out his rapier, Joel went in to stab their attacker in the throat. Instead, it quickly unlocked its sword from Katie's curved blade with a flick of the wrist and knocked Joel's weapon to the side. With his momentum carrying him, Joel continued barreling past Katie and the monster. It swung around with certain glee, slapping Joel on his rear with the flat part of the blade.

Swinging the staff of her scythe around, Katie looked to quickly decapitate this foe, yet he ducked below her blade as if he'd seen her moves before they happened. He swung once, twice with his blade, one good enough for Katie to dodge, the other one catching nothing but Kevlar and falling harmlessly to the side. The creature paused to smile it's broken smile at this development.

"I see that you and I are taking similar paths in this contest," he spoke enthusiastically, "well done."

Katie was taken off guard as the monster spoke words that had escaped her lips only a matter of hours before. Could this beast have heard her? No, impossible, if there was anyone around they'd have taken a chance in the firefight to take down both herself and Joel, being the lions that they were. One with this level of skill especially, no. He knew too much, he fought like a beast, but a masterful one at that. Could it be he was divine? Or was he in fact a demon?

The pause broken, the creature ran for Katie as it swung it's blade. She dodged it quickly enough, swinging out with her scythe to lock blades together. Twisting the staff of her weapon, she prevented him from moving, despite his efforts to contort his wrist otherwise. He pressed hard against her with his legs in the ground, trying to knock the girl off balance with little success. Despite her small frame, she was more than an equal physical match.

"Well well well," he oozed, "what are we going to do about this?"

Arching across their weapons, the creature locked it's lips over Katie's in a fiery kiss that was halfway between lust and trying to rip her face off. Oddly enough, given the circumstances, Katie found herself reciprocating, if not enjoying, the kiss.

Back on his feet, Joel limped over and watched the strange scene. Yeah, this is pretty fucked up right here. He swung out with his sword, cutting across the bulletproof vest of Katie's assailant and bringing the duo out of their duel. Lashing out with one leg, the creature kicked Joel in the face and knocked him back, then twisting his body violently as he performed a quick jump and freeing both of their weapons. On his knees now, the monster watched as Katie looked to make another quick, horizontal slash in an effort to tear his throat wide open. Twisting his wrist sharply, he jammed his sword into the ground hard, acting as a barrier with the scythe blade missing his ear by a manner of millimeters. As he rolled to the side, the creature pulled another blade from its leg, a shorter, yet wider and heavier blade. Katie first assumed it was a barong, but in the end there was no mistaking a good old machete. The creature swung the blade, slamming into the staff of her scythe with a splintering sound. Katie looked to the handle; it was cracked, but not broken, not yet at least. She couldn't continue to fight with it right now, lest it break and become useless.

Performing a deft acrobatic move, she kicked one leg off the monster's knee and the other raised leg from his shoulder, landing a quick, albeit formless back flip. It wouldn't get her anything in one of those gymnastics competitions her parents forced her into when she was little, but it was enough to confuse the monster who until this moment seemed to have nearly psychic powers. With a quick motion, she pulled the twin sais from her belt and brought one into each hand in a defensive stance. She'd seen them in books before, and knew that they would serve her well here.

"Whoa," the creature muttered as it was clearly impressed. It readied another assault with its machete, but was taken off guard as Joel threw his entire body weight into the creature's body. The two men fell to the ground in a heap, Joel pounding his fists into the monster's arm, torso and head, feeling a familiar soft thudding sound that he had always known when beating the crap out of someone. He put every ounce of strength from his massive frame into destroying the creature, this small, hunched over rat covered in mud who fought with the ferocity of a hyena yet the skill of one of those guys in those Bruce Lee movies they showed at three in the morning. He must be destroyed, must be destroyed. Smash him, break him, end him, just kill him and kill him NOW!

With a roar, the monster launched itself up from the ground and knocked Joel to the side. The wrestler made a concerted effort to rush towards the creature and fight again, receiving a fist to his face for all his trouble. The monster's punch hit Joel like a freight train, harder than any he'd felt before. The world went hazy as another punch hit him in the gut, crumpling the wrestler to the floor. As his vision became clear again, he could see the monster withdraw a small canister from its belt and place it in front of his face.

Joel didn't have time to read the label, but from the searing pain in his eyes that stole feeling from the rest of his body, he realized that the creature had just blasted him in the face with pepper spray. His arms, his legs, he couldn't feel a thing, just pain in his eyes as he cried out in agony. Collapsing to the ground, Joel could make out the dim outline of the creature as it approached him and raised the machete above its head. For the first time in a long time Joel was scared. This is it, gonna die now Joel my man...

"We're gonna fucking die!" Mike shouted as they wove through traffic.

"We're not gonna fucking die!" Joel shouted back, even though he didn't entirely believe it. Where the hell did that cop come from? Shit man, this would've been easy, this would've been fun, but where the hell did that cop come from? It should've been open and shut, go in, point the gun in the clerk's face (he could've sworn he'd recognized the clerk from school, but wasn't positive) grab the money and get going. It was supposed to be easy, shit, where did that cop come from? Why was that cop in the fucking bathroom? It was a reflex, you didn't mean to shoot the guy. Maybe he's ok, he only caught one in the jaw, that's survivable, right? The gun just went off, it was an accident, they've gotta believe that, right? No, wait, you were robbing the place, they're not gonna believe that. Think, you gotta think!

"They send cop killers to the electric chair!" Big V yelled out with pure fear, "they just strap them in and jolt them real good, no questions asked. Accomplices too! I'm going to get fucked up the ass by some three hundred pound black guy and then jolted all to hell because you wanted to rob a fucking convenience store?"

"We're not going to jail," Joel said, running a red light on the barren streets of Braiwood's outskirts. It was the less pleasant end of town, lower income, mostly black, Korean and Mexican immigrants and gangs. Easier place to hide and collect their thoughts, formulate a plan. He fumbled for the motel key in his pocket, still there. Room 238, our lifesaver.

The radio played Deep Purple's Hush unmercifully, and Joel found himself hitting it to get some peace and quiet. This was not good, not good at all. Actually, it fucking sucks. Big V was right, they were all going to be arrested and they were all going to go to jail, all gonna get fucked up the ass by some gorilla and then all gonna die. Fuck, this is fucked up. He was afraid, he tried not to show it, but all Joel wanted to do was curl up in a ball and just hope for it to end.

Looking around, Joel tried to figure out what the hell they should do. Mike was in the passenger seat, hung over and scared shitless (quite literally given the sound), Lenny was in the back seat of his own car, pissed drunk and using their duffel bag holding the cash and the gun as a pillow. Forming a plan, Joel turned off into the motel's parking lot.

Looking around, Joel found it to be barren. It was middle of the night, maybe three, four in the morning. No one with any brain was up now, which was good. No one was in sight. Excellent.

"Room 238," Joel said harshly as he placed the key Mike's hand, "you get the bag and the room, I'll get Lenny."

"Yeah," Big V responded as he nodded furiously, from nervous energy or fear Joel couldn't tell, but he got to it. Mike ran to the upper floor of the motel with the bag in hand and disappeared into the room. Joel dragged their drunken teammate from the back seat of his car, glad that Lenny had offered it up instead of using Mike's or Joel's car. That would've been a problem.

Pulling the wirier wrestler over his shoulder, Joel lugged him up the short flight of stairs that led to the second floor and tossed him on the moldy bed that was the room's centerpiece. Walking back to the door, Joel slammed it shut.

"What are we going to do?" Mike asked with terror in his eyes, "What are we going to do?"

"We're just going to walk away," Joel replied calmly, fear leaving his body, "you and me, right now, we just walk out of here, walk home and call it a night."

"How in the hell is that going to work? That's not gonna stop us from getting fucked!"

"Look, we were wearing masks," Joel said, "we all looked the same. We leave Lenny here, with the money and the gun, they'll find the sweatshirt and the masks in the car. They'll go for Lenny and probably arrest that chicken-shit cousin of his who just got out of prison. He's so drunk right now I doubt he'll remember a thing."

Joel paced to the other side of the room, continuing rapidly as the plane came to him.

"I get CC to vouch for me, that we were having sex, you call Maureen, get her to vouch for you like she was washing vomit out of your hair or something, and we won't get in trouble for this, no way, no how."

"But he was with us!" Mike replied, "He'll squeal on us like a little pig, he's just gonna give us up! He'll give us up to die!"

"Easy fix," Joel said as he went over to their drunken classmate. He slapped the nearly unconscious boy, bringing him to a state of semi-consciousness.

"Hey Len, how you doin?" Joel asked.

"Lemmalone, sleep," Lenny replied drunkenly.

"Well," Joel hissed, "you did something very bad and you're probably going to get in trouble for it. If you tell anyone else that we were here, we'll get in trouble too and that's a bad thing."

"Fuckoff, need sleep," Lenny replied as he tried to turn over.

"Now now," Joel replied, "this is very important. If you tell anyone we were here when you did the bad thing, I will slit your parents throats when they sleep, do you understand me?"

"Yeah yeah," Lenny said as he rolled over onto his belly and buried his face in a pillow, "yeah, right, quiet, I quiet."

"Perfect," Joel said, "perfect. Mike, follow me."

"Sure thing boss," Mike replied with almost glee in his eyes. Even Big V, who was a big fool much of the time, could recognize the strength of this plan. With the sleeve of his jacket, Joel wiped down the room key to keep it fingerprint free (thank god they used gloves on the gun, then they'd really be fucked) and tossed it onto the bed next to Lenny. Calmly and confidently, Joel and Mike walked from the motel room, leaving the shithole behind and doing their best to walk the several miles it would take to get back home. Sure, they could've worried about getting beat up by one of the local gangs, but after what they went through, they were feeling pretty damn bulletproof.

"In a couple miles we gonna find a payphone," Joel continued, "we're going to call in some anonymous tip that we saw some guy run from the convenience store and drive off, we followed him and he's at that motel. They gonna arrest Lenny, probably figure his cousin as the other guy, and we're gonna get out of this scot free, I swear. Cop could live or die, he didn't see our face. That tape neither. We're gonna be fine."

Mike smiled a wide smile back at the boss, "Sure thing, this is going to work out just fine. I trust you."

"Good," Joel said with an even wider, more malevolent smile, "good..."

From that day forward, Joel was always afraid for the one day when the cops would break down his door and arrest him for what he did, but in the end, everything was all right. Lenny and his cousin were indeed arrested for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon (Officer Holt survived the gunshot to the jaw, though a fragment of the bullet lodged in his spine would render him a quadriplegic for life), and the cops never found the true culprits. The gunshot residue on the sweatshirt was in Lenny's car, Lenny was either too stupid, too drunk, or too afraid of Joel to point out any accomplices, but the cops were smart enough to make an inference that he was related to someone who had been recently released from prison, was a violent criminal and habitual drug loser, and was as much of a loser as Lenny himself. It was open and shut, yet Joel still had the fear that one day he would be caught.

Kneeling down in the mud as the rain beat down all around him, his eyes feeling as if they were trying to crawl out of his skull, he realized that it might have indeed been his last moment. Maybe he was caught, this was a cop all along, and he was going to bite it right here, right now. The fear was back. Just do it, come on, do it man, just get me now, just do it, come on, DO IT, CUT ME! LET'S DO THIS!

Three bullets fired in quick succession from Katie's AK-47, two striking the monster as he readied to kill Joel. With both catching him in the bulletproof vest, something changed in the monster's demeanor. He made quick dodging moves, missing Katie's next barrage of bullets as he sheathed the machete in his leg, then quickly gathering up his sword and its sheath as he disappeared into the jungle from whence he came. Joel looked to the sky with his eyes shut tightly from pain and fear, still expecting death to come at any moment.

"You can open your eyes," Katie responded, "the rain should have cleared them of the pepper spray by now."

Opening his eyes, Joel still felt the searing pain, but could see again. This my man is what they call a near-death experience. You're alive, you can feel the pain, and you don't get more than one of these in life. Live it up. Be a man and live it up.

"You, you scared him off?" Joel muttered confusedly.

"Whatever it was," Katie replied with maybe a slight cross between lust and admiration in her voice, "it was powerful, but we managed to defeat it."

"Strength in numbers?" Joel asked inquisitively.

Reaching to the ground, Katie tossed the shotgun back to Joel.

"Something like that," she responded with the slightest of smiles.

"Let's get out of this rain," Katie added before she began to walk off into the forest. Still on the ground, his eyes clearer than they were a moment before, Joel looked around. You're safe, you're clear, don't fuck up again. Fuck up again, and you're gonna die. You didn't fuck up before, you didn't get caught. You were scared shitless, but you didn't get caught.

Getting back to his feet, minding the limp from the wound to his ankle, Joel picked up the rapier he had dropped earlier in the battle. Looking over each shoulder just to make sure things really were clear, he followed Katie off into the darkness.


	50. Hour 45: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 45

16 Contestants Remaining

It didn't make sense to her as she looked at the posts. There were twelve of them, logs that had seemingly been bored into the ground at a regular interval. Given that this was the firing range, it made perfect sense that these were probably targets of some sort, but there were some things that didn't add up. First and foremost, each had a pair of dog tags nailed to the top of it, something that was a bit creepy in its own right, but could have been a right of passage of sorts for all she knew. Then again, if these were really targets, then where were all the bullet holes? Each of these had maybe ten or twelve holes in it total. If this were a military base for certain, and an active one at that, there would be more holes, dozens, if not hundreds.

She sighed. She was a reporter through and through, having an analytical mind was her blessing and curse. Hadn't had much opportunity thus far to really put it into use though (she'd been relegated to entertainment editor while Anna had used her connections and general ass kissing to be lead editor, a fact that pissed her off to no end), and by the looks of it she wouldn't get much more opportunity to put it into action. Looks like that scholarship's gone bye bye, no more hope for the future, right?

Such minor mysteries as the twelve posts outside made her life that much easier, at least in the moment. It took her focus off the game at hand, as well as the part she had chosen to play within it. At least it helped in the short run.

"Can I ask you a stupid question," Lori Nicotero, a.k.a. Girl # 1 asked.

Lara Drake, a.k.a. Girl # 24 took another sip from her bottled water as she let her gaze drop away from the posts beyond the window. A quick bolt of lightning illuminated them for a brief moment and cast their twelve bizarre shadows in her direction. Both girls waited a few moments for the thunder to crash, yet this one was mercifully far away. The storm had been going down, thank god, and the rain had dissipated into something of a steady drizzle instead of an unending downpour.

"Have I stopped you before?" Lara responded sarcastically.

Lori couldn't help but giggle at her partners sarcasm, but knew she couldn't be beat on this one, "Hey, remember who's got the crossbow here."

"Yeah," Lara said as she lifted the edge of her shirt to show off a flat stomach as well as what appeared to be a rather large pistol, "and remember who has the flare gun?"

"Ok, Ok, you got me," Lori responded, "but can I still ask you a stupid question?"

"Ask away," Lara replied.

"Do I still look hot?" Lori asked with a hint of a smile, "I mean, I know it's not exactly the time or place to be concerned about your looks, but, I'm bitchy I guess, so I had to ask."

"Not as bitchy as you think," Lara stated simply.

"Really?" Lori replied, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, I mean you have your moments," Lara responded cheekily, "like when you cut up Luke's hand with your ax."

"Well, yeah, I guess that does sort of count as a bitchy moment," Lori replied with a bit of a laugh. She knew it was wrong to be reacting the way she was to how they brutally, well, tore Luke to bits. But, it's not like he didn't deserve it, right? He cheated around on Lara (though it was obvious to anyone that he was a man-whore, the fact that Lara didn't pick up on it didn't say much for her IQ), and gave both of them an STD. At first it didn't seem all that right, that maybe Lara was a psycho and that they were taking the wrong path by going out of their way to kill people, but in the end it was something worth laughing about. Luke got his, and he got it good.

"But overall you're not nearly as bad as you give yourself credit for," Lara responded, then adding, "you're probably as big a slut as you think you are, but a bitch, well, that's up in the air. I'd say your pretty nice to be perfectly honest, but maybe the exhaustion and lack of any real food is causing me to hallucinate."

"Well, there's always that," Lori replied, "but, seriously, do I still look hot?"

"Well..." Lara trailed off as she actually took a good long look at her new friend. Giving an honest answer, especially considering all that they had been through, wasn't as easy as it should have been with someone as beautiful as Lori. She had burns dotting her left leg and thigh from the flare Lara fired at her in the morning, most of which were now scabbed over (some were probably infected too; they didn't wrap them soon enough) and now a long cut across her right cheek from an errant crossbow bolt. Then again, she did that too, didn't she? Earlier she'd felt pretty justified in hurting, even disfiguring, the girl who had snuck in on Luke and her.

Things had changed though. Isn't that how they're supposed to go? Senior year, that's when things change for the better or for the worse. It seemed like it was for the better when you first met Luke, he said all those sweet nothings, seemed unbelievably romantic and was impeccably groomed. Then she'd realized out far too late that not only was Luke sleeping around with pretty much every girl and guy he could get his hands on, but he had also gotten her, Lori, and god only knows how many other people sick with a VD. Everything had changed then, that's for sure. She and Lori had taken Luke out with murderous intent, and all logic said that once they were finished, they'd part ways or at the very least try to kill each other, but something strange had happened. They'd grown accustomed to each others company, and if anything Lara found herself liking Lori. Truth be told, with everything that they had talked about and everything they had done the last two days, Lara would have even counted Lori as one of her best friends. Funny how things like that happen isn't it? One day a prudish reporter, next day best friends with the class slut because of your mutual interest in massacring the class man-slut. What's next?

"I'd say you're still pretty hot, yeah," Lara responded, "might take some time to heal up before you're doable again, but if I was a guy I'd totally sleep with you."

"Awww, that's sweet of you," Lori replied with a genuine smile.

"I've got my moments," Lara replied with a cocky grin.

Silence invaded the room once more as Lara began to tear at the wrapping of another MRE. She knew the stuff tasted like crap, but whatever energy that they could gain would be best. Well, really they needed sleep, but that was really hard to come by these days. Between the past two days, they had maybe 15 hours of sleep between the two of them and it was starting to really kick in. Lara watched her hands shake as she dealt with the foil wrapping of the MRE, while Lori was having trouble keeping her head from rolling around.

"Can I ask another stupid question?" Lori said out of nowhere.

"Nothing's stopping you," Lara replied.

"Did you ever have a crush on anyone? I don't mean Luke, even though you were together, but we know that he doesn't count here anyway."

"Naturally."

"But, really, did you ever have a crush on anyone?"

Lara sighed, looking to the faces of her classmates as they went through her mind. Far too many of them were dead for her to want to think about them, but like everyone else within the game she knew that she needed to go numb to the situation and just get it out.

"You'd laugh if I told you," Lara said with a bit of a blush.

"You haven't laughed at me for asking some stupid questions," Lori responded with one of her patented smiles, "I won't laugh at you now."

Lara looked up bashfully as she tried to get the name out. It was harder than she expected, given his recent departure from the living, but with Lori around to keep her calm, it came out rather well.

"Geiger."

"Geiger? You had a crush on Geiger Anton?"

"The one and only," Lara said confidently as she crossed her arms across her chest for emphasis.

"Why Geiger? I mean, he was kind of cute, I just never saw anything special about him. He seemed to be pretty average," Lori responded.

"He was cute, to me at least," Lara continued, "but as we've seen my standards are pretty poor so I don't know if I should be bragging. Still, he was a nice guy. I have... did, know him since we were in grade school. He would always ask me how my day was going, he would talk to me about the weather. He would tell me a joke whenever he saw me stressed out. He'd let me borrow his jacket on a rainy day, even though it fit me like a tent, he still let me use it. He was just as sweet as it came."

"Yeah," Lori responded, "he sounds it. Did you ever tell him?"

"Me? No, never, I never really had the spine. I never once asked a guy out, and Luke, well, he just kind of wormed his way in."

"Yeah," Lori admitted, "he's good at that, isn't he?"

"Well, he was," Lara replied with a bit of a laugh.

"You feel safe admitting all this in front of a paying audience?" Lori added as she pointed to the camera that was placed along the corner of the ceiling. There were identical ones in almost every nook and cranny of every building on the island, so it was no shock to be there, but it was something they joked about mercilessly.

"Well, they're paying to see us shoot, stab and otherwise dismember each other, something tells me they aren't going to be really concerned with a little confession on my part. Hell, they're probably bored stiff."

"Yeah," Lori replied as she shrugged her shoulder, "but there's bound to be some redeeming message in all this, right?"

"Yeah," Lara said as she looked directly into the camera and flashed a thumbs up, "Hey kids, stay in school! You could turn out just like us!"

The pair broke out in laughter at the absurdity of the remark, retreating to the realm of giggly schoolgirls as they relaxed back and listened to the rain.

Sighing softly, Lara drifted off towards looking out the window again. Another bolt of lightning came down further away than any before. One thousand one, one thousand two. No thunder. One thousand three, one thousand four. Still no thunder. One thousand five, one thousand six. Looks like we have a winner, we get to skip the thunder outright. That's good, right, no more thunder. That stuff's scary after all.

"So I've been thinking," Lara stated.

"Thinking is good," Lori replied, "about anything important?"

"I've been thinking about what we should do for the rest of the game," Lara continued, "I think we've been going about this wrong. Going for that crate was a mistake I think."

"What do you mean?" Lori asked, "We were going for the weapons or the people drawn out by the weapons, weren't we?"

"Yeah," Lara replied as she took a large, hesitant bite from her MRE, "but it's late in the game since they dropped that box. I don't have a watch, but I know it's been at least, what, twelve hours? Probably more, right?"

"Probably, yeah."

"So, I think that if anything we can automatically count out actually finding anything still useful there, anyone who wasn't bogged down by the rain probably has gone out and already found and taken anything that's useful. As well, anybody that has gone there looking for the box has either left when they got something, left when they found nothing, or died because they encountered one of the last two people. I mean, for all we know that place could be bloodbath city by now, right?"

"Right," Lori said as she began to understand where her partner was coming from.

"So, I'm thinking as soon as the rain lets up a little more, we change directions."

"Change directions?"

"Yeah, change directions," Lara continued, "during the last three hours all remaining danger zones are activated except the area immediately surrounding the starting bunker. I say that we take advantage of the fact that come the end of the game, everyone is going to be herded to that one spot. We just hide in the bushes, wait there for the clock to run down, and pick them off as they come in. We can take their guns if they have any and then be the strong ones."

"Let them come to us instead of us looking for them," Lori stated as the plan became clearer.

"You're getting it, definitely," Lara said, "that's the plan. We go there, we make it to the end, and we figure out what to do then when we get there."

"We can do this," Lori said excitedly, "that's a great plan!"

"I have my moments," Lara replied with a slightly smug grin, "this just happens to be one of my better ones."

"You and me girl," Lori said as she approached her friend for a high five. Sure, some had dubbed them horrible and heartless monsters, while they saw themselves as two girls merely doing what they had to do to keep the girl power going, but for Lara Drake and Lori Nicotero, things could not have gotten any better.

* * *

"SHIT!" Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 yelled as the pipe they had been using to try and wedge open the door to the cockpit broke in half. It gashed her palm pretty decently, and already she could feel the hot blood oozing between her fingers. 

"What was that?" Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12 yelled in response from behind his wheel.

"Nothing," Lexie Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 20 replied.

"Nothing? NOTHING?" Ashley hollered as she reeled at the gash on her palm, "I cut my fucking hand on the second fucking rusty pipe we've tried to bust this damn door open with that broke in half and I'm probably going to get tetanus now, and that's nothing?"

"OK, then maybe it's not nothing," Lexie responded as she looked to the injured girl's hand. Ashley had succumbed to her nervous habit of gnawing slightly on the end of her sunglasses, something she did when particularly irritated. This door seemed like just one of those occasions when she was particularly irritated. With the no mans land between the two portions of the airplane that hid the members of SABRE, their only possible exit that might offer them some protection from the thug up in the tower was if by some outside chance they could get into the cockpit and break out through the front windshield. Then maybe, just maybe they stood a fighting chance in getting the hell out, and maybe finding a way to take Paul with them.

"Hurts like a son of a bitch," Ashley responded as she quickly put the glasses back in the front pocket of her auto shop shirt.

"This is really screwed up," Lexie said as she offered Ashley a handkerchief from one of her back pockets. Ashley looked to the piece of fabric in the limited light of their flashlights, tying it gratefully around her hand.

"Yeah, I've seen a lot of screwed up stuff in my time," Paul replied through chattering teeth, "but this is as fucked as it gets. We've been here, what, eight hours?"

"Something like that," Lexie responded as she looked back to Ashley.

Ashley sighed as she looked down to the blood showing through the handkerchief around her hand.

"Guys," Ashley admitted slowly, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Lexie asked.

"You fart or something?" Paul asked in an attempt to make a joke. It failed.

"No, I'm sorry for all this," Ashley admitted, "we shouldn't be here. I thought we would be able to make a difference by picking up the weapons, I thought we'd be able to meet the others here. They were smart I think, they went back to camp I bet, while we're out here being pinned down by whatever nutcase has that gun up there."

Idly testing the waters, Ashley pointed the beam of her flashlight so it would hit the no mans land between the tire and fuselage. Sure enough, within three seconds a rifle crack could be heard and the mud on the ground was churned up as a high caliber bullet pierced it.

"Damn they're good," Paul chattered as he held his body tightly in a ball. He had long since been soaked through by the rain, been exposed to the elements for far too long with his cover from their attacker barely larger than he was. Amazingly enough though, perhaps it was his personality, but he had remained rather cheerful and optimistic the entire time, even if his own plans from time to time didn't really match up with what Ashley and Lexie had in mind.

"I can run fast," Paul said seriously as he looked to the girls, "if I carried a light, the two of you could go in the other direction, keep dark, you wouldn't be seen."

"Not goin through this again," Ashley responded.

"Why not?" Paul asked back.

"We've talked this out already," Ashley said as she shook her head, "ain't gonna happen."

"Why not? Why won't you just let me do it and save the both of you."

"We don't want you to die," Lexie responded earnestly, while Ashley looked on with more honest eyes.

"We need you as much as you want to save us," Ashley said, "I know you want to be the hero here-"

"No, you don't know anything," Paul shot back as he cut her off, "not this time you don't."

"I know a damn fool when I see one and you're being a big one here," Ashley fired back.

"You don't know a damn thing," Paul responded harshly as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

"I know more than you think I do," Ashley said, "I'm not some stupid barrio trash."

"I know that, but-"

"Look, you want to go out there and sacrifice yourself because it's some stupid macho thing, but what you're doing is-"

"Please, can you just listen to me for one second?"

"No, let me finish," Ashley continued, "if you want to save us by running out there and you think you're doing the right thing, well, you wouldn't be. You wouldn't be doing any of us any good, you'd just get your ass shot and we'd be-"

"Look, you're not listening to me!"

"I'm not finished!" Ashley practically yelled.

"Please, just wait," Paul said honestly and forcefully, "you might want to listen to the guy that's in love with you."

Ashley and even Lexie stopped cold in their tracks as they heard Paul's confession.

"What was that?" Ashley asked as if she didn't quite hear it correctly.

"What, you want me to spell it out? I'm in love with you, OK? Have been for a long time, believe it or not you're pretty easy to form crushes on and I've got a major one for you. I've wanted to hold on and say it on a special occasion, but with things like they are I just had to get it out before we all died. All right?"

Ashley, for the first time that she could recall, was at a loss for words. She'd known love before, albeit unrequited, and she'd known lust on more than one occasion. She'd never had someone actually fall for her though, as far as she knew she was one of those off limits girls who guys could have a good time with but never actually fall for. Now here was Paul, a white bread horror movie geek yet good guy all around just coming out and saying that he had a big time crush on her. Seriously, how is a girl supposed to respond to that? Or, more appropriately, how is a girl supposed to respond to that when there's a sniper keeping them pinned down while said boy is volunteering to give his life up just so said girl can make a clean break for it? To say she was conflicted would have been a significant understatement.

"Was it something I said?" Paul asked as he tried to make light of the situation. He was glad the rain masked his tears for the moment. Ashley focused her flashlight on his face, noticing the sincerity in his appearance, and maybe, just maybe her heart skipped a beat. Her mind on the other hand had already thought something out, to which Ashley pulled out her sawed-off shotgun and held it out.

"You still planning on running Paul?" Ashley asked.

"Yeah," Paul replied, "yeah, I think I am."

"It's noble I have to say, but I can't let you do it, I'm sorry."

"Why? What would you do?"

"If you run," Ashley said with forced severity, "if you run, and you die, so help me God, I will put this under my chin and I will kill myself."

"You wouldn't!" Paul fired back.

"I would in a heartbeat," Ashley said seriously.

"No, you wouldn't! You're Ashley, you're like a cockroach, you never die!"

"I'm human just like you and Lexie," Ashley said as she motioned towards the girl who remained dumbstruck throughout their entire conversation, "I can die and I will die if you leave."

"Why would you do it though? Why?"

"I'd do it if I could just meet you in heaven and kick your ass for doing something as stupid as running out there and getting yourself shot for no reason," Ashley said as she tied the handkerchief tight, "don't do it man."

"Please," Paul pleaded, "don't!"

"Ashley," Lexie cried out as she grabbed her friends arm.

Ashley shook her off, pulling back the shotgun's hammers and placing the twin barrels directly beneath her chin, "Just watch me. You do something stupid before we've even had a chance for escape and we all pay for it. If you wait for us, just let us work out this escape, and we'll all get out of here together. I can get us out of here, I know it."

"You do?" Paul asked.

Spinning the light from her flashlight around the fuselage, Ashley looked among the debris for anything that could offer some level of hope. Seeing a piece of the metal floor wedged up with a row of seats on top of it, she smiled in the darkness.

"I do," Ashley responded coolly, "and when we get out I swear I will kiss you."

"You will?" Paul asked a bit bewildered.

"Cross my heart," Ashley responded, "How many grenades do you have left?"

Feeling the egg shaped objects attacked to the webbed belt across his chest, Paul responded, "Five. I got five."

"Good," Ashley responded, "we're gonna need them."


	51. Hour 46: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 46

16 Contestants Remaining

"Think you can get it working again?" Girl # 11, Jenny Reese asked as she held the flashlight over the boy's shoulder in the meat locker.

"That's what I'm trying," Boy # 2, Doug Rodgers responded as he pushed the glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, "what I've been trying."

"Sorry," Jenny replied as she tried to get a better angle with the light, "I've got a bit of a vested interest in this, so please excuse me if I'm really worried about getting this thing working."

"You givin me lip?" Doug asked sarcastically.

"Sorry, sorry," Jenny replied again, "it's just-"

"I know, don't worry about it," Doug replied, "blood's on my hands too. I should've been smart about this, I should have just said we should all stay together so nothing would happen. The eleven of us, maybe more would all be together, not scattered all over this island, god only knows what killing us. Francisco, Gus... Anna, they'd all be with us, and we'd all be out of here."

"That's not what I was going to say," Jenny said calmly as she continued to look over his shoulder.

"Then I should say sorry," Doug replied as he turned around to look at the girl, "what were you going to say?"

"I was going to say that it's just that you've been really nice. I've... I've seen a lot today, I've lost a lot of people, I've lost people that are pretty much my family, and I've been a wreck. You, you've just been really stable, you've been sane, and you've been stable, and, I just need to thank you for helping keep me sane too. You've really been a help Doug," Jenny admitted.

"Thanks, I guess," Doug replied with a smile, "I'm probably not the poster boy of mental health, but, I'm glad to help."

Jenny couldn't help but giggle. What was this? Getting giggly and flirty with a guy who should by all rights be a sophomore while your dead best friend is in the next room? This is something they normally keep for therapy, but, well, right now it's feeling pretty good. Laughing's better than just curling up in a ball and crying like Lexie was, right? That girl was a freakshow, you're smiling, you're laughing, that's healthy, right? Well, maybe actually holding onto the memory of a dead friend is better, if you don't react you've been desensitized and you've been in this game way too long.

"You OK?" Doug asked.

"Yeah," Jenny replied, "fine, I'm fine, just thinking, caught up in the moment I guess. I really want to get off this island."

"Well," Doug responded, "you're talking to the right guy in that respect. You may think I'm sane, but truth be told I'm rather quite mad, and I'm thinking that madness will be enough to afford us some success in pulling this plan off, since it is pretty crazy."

"Well, it's less crazy if you can get the computer working again, right?" Jenny asked.

"Less crazy, yeah," Doug responded as he looked at the crack that criss-crossed the monitor, "but not completely crazy. Just mostly crazy, semi-crazy. I planted enough files within their system that those guys don't know about, if we take one of their boats, I can use one of the laptops there to give them a hard time."

"And get us out?" Jenny asked with some hope.

"And get us out, yes," Doug replied, "though truth be told I'd rather be one hundred percent sure of this plan, right now I'm maybe eighty-five."

"Eighty-five's not good," Jenny said with a furrow of the brow.

"Not good, but it's still passing," Doug replied as he began to look at the shattered frame on the back of the computer, "but I'd prefer straight A's to be perfectly honest. I'm gonna get them too."

"So you are now?" Jenny asked a bit coyly.

"But of course I am," Doug responded, for I am invi-"

BAM!

"Fuck man, don't shoot!" they could hear Boy # 11, Bo Adrian, yelling from the main room. Before he even had the chance to finish his sentence, Doug was already on his feet with revolver in hand, as was Jenny with her meat hook. After some weaving through the meat locker, across the kitchen and into the dining hall, they could see the party standing at the door. There were three of them and all had guns, two with pistols and one with a rifle. Seemed like the one with the rifle put a round into the ceiling, though they were lucky it was the ceiling and not Bo or Michael.

"Jesus," Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15 muttered as he balanced himself on the doorframe with his rifle held high and pointed at the wrestler, "you see a guy like this standing in the doorframe with a sledgehammer and you expect me not to shoot?"

"I'm one like you, I'm a good guy, really!" Bo hollered out.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Doug said as he trained his revolver on the three in the doorway.

"He attacked us earlier," Girl # 4, Katherine Farraday, shot out, "he was with Joel, they attacked us earlier. They killed Francisco."

"Bo's on our side now," Michael Baxter, a.k.a. 21 fired back as he defended Bo from the side, "he ran off from the wrestlers, he's a traitor to them, he's on our side, really, we can vouch for him. We can all vouch for him. He saved our lives... he saved us from Gus."

"Gus?" Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1 asked as he put down his gun, "What happened to him?"

"Didn't you hear the announcement?" Doug asked.

"We all did," Katherine responded, "but I don't think any of us knew if it was for real."

"It's for real all right, he lost it, killed Anna, tried to kill us, and locked us in the meat locker. If it wasn't for Bo, we'd all still be in there," Doug continued, "Gus is outside now. I left him there after... after I killed him."

"Jesus," Katherine let out as she covered her mouth with one hand.

"You say he's cool?" Carter asked Doug, "Bo's with us?"

"Yes I do," Doug responded, "he's with us now. Bo's SABRE."

Carter lowered the Walther PPK that Matt had given him earlier and motioned for Katherine and the skater to follow suit. Katherine was quick to follow, though Matt kept his rifle trained on Doug.

"Come on," Carter said as he placed a hand on the rifle's barrel, "ease up Matt."

"I'll lower my gun when he lowers his, sorry if I'm a little paranoid but just trust me on this one all right?"

Doug stared up into the eyes of the skater who maintained his rather intense look, but surely lowered his revolver and inched it back into his belt. Matt lowered the barrel of his rifle, then swinging it around on its sling in a deft movement around his shoulder.

"OK, now we're all cool, you're cool," Carter said as he pointed to Doug, "we're cool, and nobody's going to be shooting anyone else here, right?"

"Right," Doug replied.

"Sure," Matt responded, "whatever."

"All right, that's good, this is good, this is progress," Carter said with a smile as he waved his hands around animatedly, "now, do we have an extra armband?"

* * *

"Why am I wearing this orange thing again wrestler?" Matt asked as he adjusted the orange strip of fabric that he had tied around his forehead in the dim light that his flashlight provided. He washed himself in the latrine they had in back of the mess hall with rain water they had collected in a sink as Bo watched the door with his sledgehammer in hand. 

"Identification I guess," Bo replied with a bit of irritation, "skater."

"Do you really buy this whole 'We can get out of here, let's escape' thing?" Matt asked honestly as he looked at himself in the musty mirror for what seemed to be the first time in years. His face was all bruised over from Lexie's attack, while much of his clothing was still soaked through with dried blood. Not to mention the fact that he was feeling rather sluggish (likely from the blood loss), the wounds itched like hell (likely from infection), and he was dizzy (likely from dehydration). Yeah, lookin real good there my friend.

"Do I have a choice?" Bo asked.

"Yeah, you do," Matt fired back, "you can believe it or you can't, choice is yours."

"Then yeah, I do by this whole escape thing," Bo replied honestly, "I don't feel like I have much of a choice. I'm going to live. I want to see home again, I want to be able to hug my mum and pop again, and I refuse to believe that I'm not going to do that again. I want to go out and have a pint with my brothers again, and I refuse to believe that I'm no going to do that again. I want to go out and play a game of rugby in a country where I don't have to fear games like this, and I _refuse_ to believe that I'm not going to be able to do that again."

"You refuse a lot," Matt responded, "in a game where none of us really have a choice about whether we live or die."

"Fuck off man," Bo replied, "I refused to die and am still alive here and now, what about you? What got you this far?"

Matt was taken off guard by the question as he looked into the mirror. He could have answered it the easy way, just made something up, or he could've answered it the hard way and just come out with the truth. In the end, he chose somewhere in between.

"I'm a fool," Matt replied bluntly, "a fool and an idiot, and a lucky one at that."

Bo laughed out loud as he rubbed the bruises criss-crossing his forehead from his battle with Gus, "Yeah, I hear that one mate."

"Hey guys," a female voice said from the doorway behind them. The two warriors turned around to find Jenny, her hair now up in a ponytail, balancing herself with one hand on the doorframe as she looked upon them.

"I'm... I'm trying to give a memorial, a funeral, for Anna now that we got people here. She's not going to get one otherwise and I think she would've wanted one to just fuck those government big wigs over. You want to join us?"

"Yeah," Bo said as he nodded obediently, "yeah, I'm on it. Both of us are, right?"

"Yeah..." Matt replied as he gauged the wrestler's sincerity, "yeah, let's do that."

* * *

"So can we get them out of there?" Carter asked as he sat at the table across from Doug. The map stretched out between them was dotted with various markings and several circles made around the vicinity of the airfield. 

"We can, but it'd be suicide," Doug responded as he pointed further up the map on the airfield, "Cooper, that dance girl, she's holed up in a building across the way from wherever Lexie, Paul and Ashley are hiding. Now, either one of them is injured and it makes it impossible for them to move..."

"I'd doubt it," Carter replied, "Ashley's one tough chick, she'd make it out of there if she was paralyzed from the neck down, and she's strong enough to carry either Paul or Lexie if one of them was hurt."

"Probably, but it's a possibility. Then there's the other one..."

"What's that?" Carter asked.

"Marie's not moving and neither are those three. Marie's in a building while they are hiding out in the middle of a field. My guess, she's got some big guns, probably from the crate and she's keeping them pinned down somehow. Going out there, trying to mount a rescue, that's a suicide mission."

"Like our last one wasn't?" Carter asked, "We have to go out and help them. We need them to pull off this escape."

"I don't think so," Doug replied, "we could make it together if we just plan it right."

"Yeah, but we should give our best shot to get them out anyway," Carter responded, "leave no man behind, isn't that the Army Ranger motto?"

"We're not rangers," Doug shot back quickly, "we're kids, and not the brightest ones at that."

"Fair enough," Carter replied, "but we owe them a chance, don't we? If they really are trapped there, don't we owe them a chance? Shouldn't we try to get them out of there like Bo helped you guys get out of the locker?"

Doug sighed, removing his glasses as he massaged the bridge of his nose, "Do you really think you could get them out of there?"

"Yes," Carter said, "yes I do."

"Then let's work out a plan after-"

"Why are there pennies on her eyes?" Katherine asked as she looked to the peaceful looking body of their leader lain out on a nearby table. Anna lay on the table with the large crease running across her forehead and mouth agape, her body contorted by rigor mortis, while two shiny pennies neatly covered her eyes.

"They wouldn't stay closed," Doug replied simply as he placed his glasses back on his nose, "and I'm a bit of a mythology buff, it seemed right."

"It's creepy," Katherine admitted with a slight shudder.

"It's her payment," Doug continued, "I don't know what God she subscribes to, but the ancient Greeks believed putting coins on the eyes of the dead would act as payment for the ferry-keeper to take them across the river Styx and into the afterlife. Like I said, I don't know who her god is, but I figured I ought to give her the best fighting chance depending on where, if anywhere she is now. None of us really have one while we're still alive here, so she might as well now that she's dead."

"What about Gus?" Michael asked from the other side of the room. His voice dripped of sarcasm, but like Michael had taken to recently, he didn't care to elaborate.

"He made his decision," Doug said calmly, "he'll fend for himself now."

"That's pretty cold," Katherine responded.

"Yeah, well he was a cold son of a bitch," Jenny replied as she entered the room and sat down on one of the table's opposite Anna, "he murdered Anna because he was a scared little shit and locked us up in the meat freezer and left us for dead. Doug deserves a medal for putting a bullet in his head. He can burn in hell for all I care."

Looking on to the group hesitantly, Carter sighed. He couldn't help but feel responsible for a lot of what had gone down. Had he not insisted upon leaving and going for the crate, all eleven of them would be here and ready to make the escape. Hell, they probably would have escaped by now if it weren't for them all having split up, and now Ashley and the rest were trapped by the airfield, pinned down by some bastard looking to murder them...

"Look, everyone," Carter cut in, "I have to say this, but I'm sorry. I can't help but feel that a lot of this is my fault."

"Yeah, it is," Jenny said harshly, backing down only as Doug shot her a sharp gaze.

"But we can work this out, seriously," Carter fired back, "once we work out what to do from here we're all going to get out of here, guaranteed. Now, are we going to do this memorial or what?"

"Sorry," Jenny replied as she watched Matt and Bo walk back in, "let's do this."

Reaching down towards the end of Anna's table, Jenny pulled at the stained sheet they had found while scavenging earlier the day before and began to pull it over her forehead. When one corner caught on her arm stiff with rigor mortis, Michael quickly stepped in and helped pull it free with his good hand.

"Thanks," Jenny said a bit meekly.

"No prob," Michael replied as he forced a smile. It wasn't easy given everything that had happened in the past few hours, but he still knew how to manage civility, even among the savage. He looked on with interest as Jenny surveyed the six other members of SABRE, trying to think up a fitting eulogy.

"I've never been to a funeral before," Jenny started out as she tried to catch her breath, "and I never really wanted to go to one. Funerals were always for someone you knew who is no longer around anymore, and I have never been able to handle the thought of losing someone I've known, someone I've held close... someone I've loved. Anna was my best friend, and I will always remember her for being my best friend. She was the greatest person I've known, and, I just..."

She trailed off as the tears began to well up in her eyes and her voice choked up, only stepping down as Carter put a hand on her shoulder and politely pulled her to the side.

"Thank you Jenny," he said as he took the stage within the group.

"I really don't do speeches, but I'll try my best here," Carter proclaimed a bit nervously, "I'm not going to step up here and claim Anna as my best friend, but she was a friend, a damn good one at that, and she didn't deserve this. She was far too strong-willed, far too intelligent, too loyal, and far too good for this game. We all are, even if we can't afford the luxury of disagreeing with our current circumstances. Anna, wherever you are, you know that you won't be forgotten. You know that you'll be with us here, and I know that you're watching over us and that you'll see us through to helping us beat this thing."

As Carter stepped down, Michael found the moment his to speak up.

"I've never really been good with words," Michael said with a wince as he could feel the bones shift in his shattered arm, "and I, like Jenny I haven't been to many funerals. Death is something that always terrified me, and something that still does, so it's a bit awkward to be standing here and now and giving a speech to talk about a friend of mine who just so happens to be dead. Anna and I didn't always get along, I mean, we shared the same politics, and we agreed on a lot of things, but she was always more outgoing than I was willing to be. She was a doer, whatever she wanted to get done she would get done, and I guess that's what I admired most about her. She got things done, and she never had to go back on who she was to do it."

Michael stepped down with a sigh, letting another long moment of silence pass through the room. The members of SABRE looked to one another and wondered what would or should happen next. Someone else gonna speak up? This over, Anna's one and only funeral here and now? Noticing the awkward moment and wanting to break it up, Doug raised his typically low voice to give one final eulogy.

"I didn't know Anna before two days ago, so I don't know if I can talk about her as glowingly as the rest of you guys, but I'll do the best I can to tell you what I know. I know that before two days ago, I didn't really like or know Anna Rourke. She was a pompous, cold-hearted bitch who would screw over anyone to get what she wanted, and in all honesty I didn't see anything different here."

To say Jenny's eyes were cutting through Doug would have been an understatement, though similar reactions could be seen around the room. Confusion, bewilderment, maybe even a little disgust found their way to the faces of the people that surrounded Doug. Only Matt remained nonplussed as he watched the spectacle with a wise smirk.

"And if it sounds like I'm trampling on her grave, I apologize, since I am trying to keep as far from it as possible. I... admire her, and I respect her. I respect her a lot more than anyone I think I've known in my life, because quite frankly no one I know could do what she did. I know that none of the rest of us could have pulled off what Anna did, now that's not a knock against anyone, but this girl, no, woman, she was an amazing leader."

The positive reactions were back, people smiling and genuinely feeling what Doug was saying. He looked around the crowd and found their smiles and tears to be even harsher than their near-hatred just moments before.

"Seriously, look at what she did. I could swear, any other day none of us would have really considered each other in the hallways, we'd be busy with our own little groups, be we the athletes, the popular kids, the skaters, the outcasts, or even the nerds. She brought us together though; she brought us together and she got us to work together. I didn't know her that well, but I know that I am impressed with what she did."

Stepping down from the figurative pulpit, Doug rejoined the circle that looked upon the shroud-draped body. From an angle it almost appeared that she was sleeping, that she might have just woken up at any moment and asked them what they were all standing around and staring at her for. She didn't though. Anna just lay beneath the dirty and stained sheet they had found with her head caved in nearly an inch and eyes that just wouldn't stay closed hidden under pennies. Jenny sighed, trying to shake the image from her mind and suddenly just wanting this to end. She approached Anna's body, pulling the sheet down her face an inch and kissing the part of her forehead that still looked normal.

"I'll miss you," Jenny whispered, "you were my best friend, I'll never forget."

As tears began to fall down her cheeks, she joined the circle and tried to maintain composure. Seeing her on the verge of breaking down, Doug reached out and held her hand. Much to Jenny's surprise, she held his hand back.

"So what should we do now?" Jenny asked as her voice wavered.

"Maybe, should we sing a hymn or something?" Bo suggested.

"Good idea... Anyone actually know any hymn's?" Michael asked.

An awkward moment of pause hung in the air as the seven stood looking from one to the other.

"Maybe we should..." Michael said nervously, "maybe we should sing her favorite song perhaps?"

"Her favorite song was My Sharona," Jenny said, stifling a bit of a giggle as the tears continued, "I dunno if that'd work here."

She knew it was wrong, and she knew it was her best friend lying dead before her, but really, the thought of singing My Sharona at a funeral was a bit absurd. She sighed.

"All right," Doug broke in as he took his hand away from Jenny's, "let's get back to work. Matt, Jenny, you guys good to watch the front door?"

Matt was quick to nod, albeit a bit groggy, in an effort to show that he could be a part of the group. Jenny took another moment, but for the sake of the group she complied.

"Bo, Katherine, you all right with the back entrance?"

"Sure mate," Bo replied, "no prob."

Katherine took a bit longer as she looked the wrestler up and down. This guy had been part of a group that had tried to kill her and Carter not too long ago, and he was part of the reason that Lexie, Paul and Ashley were trapped near the airfield.

"Can I switch out? Take the front door with Matt?" Katherine asked a bit hesitantly.

"Up to you guys really," Doug replied frankly as Bo looked on confused, "sort it out, I need Carter and Michael, we have to talk about what to do about Paul, Ashley and Lexie and some planning for our break. We've got the numbers, we can pull this off now. We can do this, we're together, and we are going to pull this off."

Doug put his hand out face down in front of him, "SABRE."

Carter looked to the youngest graduating senior and smiled with admiration. Not but one day ago he was meek, terrified and maybe a little bit insane from what the game did to him, yet whatever Gus had done to the group had made him strong, confident and collected. He had a lot of Anna in him, Carter noted, and felt more than ever that they really were going to make it out alive. Following suit, he put his hand on top of Doug's, "SABRE."

Katherine smiled and put hers on top of Carter's, "SABRE."

One at a time Jenny, Bo and Michael put their hands in the pile. Matt looked to them momentarily, still not quite sure that this place was really his scene. Sure, he had the orange band wrapped around his forehead like the others, but what did that really mean? He stumbled across Carter and Katherine half-naked by accident, they'd patched him up, but could he really trust everyone here? Would they all watch his back like they say they watched each others backs? Then again, they knew where Lexie was, he was pretty weak, and they all had guns.

"Fuck it," Matt said, "I'm in. SABRE!"


	52. Hour 47: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 47

16 Contestants Remaining

"_Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand,"_ the song blared.

Cross, cross, jab.

"_Just like a river twistin through the dusty land,"_ it continued.

Jab, hook, jab.

"_And when she shines she really shows you all she can..."_

Left hook, right hook, cross.

"_Oh Rio Rio dance across the Rio Grande..."_

Jab, cross, upper-CUT!

"Nice mi sobrina," the man said through a thick beard as he held the heavy bag, "but you gotta loosen up your step a bit, keep on the toes. Hey Eduardo, could you shut off that radio?"

"Sure papa," the ten-year-old said enthusiastically as he jumped off the car hood and ran across the shop to turn off the radio.

"I'm tryin tío," Ashley responded as she flexed her knuckles underneath their wrappings, "keeping up with the combinations."

"Combinations are good," her uncle replied as he stepped out from behind the bag, "but if someone gets in your face..."

With startling speed, he got in her face and looked down upon the wiry girl, "...like this, combinations don't mean jack shit. Feet first, fists second, float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, not the other way around ya know?"

Pressing both of her fists into his chest, Ashley pushed her uncle away.

"Yeah, I get ya," she replied as she stepped away from the bag with certain irritation, lifting the edge of her sunglasses just long enough to rub her eyes.

"Allergies kicking in again?" her uncle asked skeptically. He reached over to find a rag as he began to clean out his socket set.

"A little bit, yeah," she lied, glad to have the sunglasses block out the light again.

Looking to his son, Kenneth Reyes reached into his pocket and threw him a wadded up five dollar bill.

"Hey son, go on down to the store and buy us some Coke's, aight? Get yourself a candy bar or something too."

"Thanks papa!" the young boy shouted with great enthusiasm as he ducked under the garage door and ran out towards the street. Kenneth looked to his niece and sighed, tossing a his rag into a pile in the corner.

"Been behind the school smoking the weed again?" he asked a bit harshly.

"Jackson Brent," Ashley said with a wry grin, "the guy grows good stuff."

"That he does," her uncle replied with an even wider smile, "that he does. Got any on you?"

"A little bit, want some?" she asked.

"Maybe later, have to put in a new tranny on Henderson's Buick, and I wanna be able to see my hands in the meantime."

Ashley laughed, "That thing still drives?"

"Not now," her uncle replied, "but it will when I'm done with it. Uncle Kenneth's magic hands gonna do their work."

"Need some help?" Ashley asked.

"Don't you have a prom to go to tonight?" he asked curiously, "Not that I mind really, I could use the help, but shouldn't you be having fun? I mean the legal kind of course."

"Yeah, it's tonight," she responded as she took a seat on a nearby tool chest, "not sure if I'm gonna go though."

"Why's that?"

"No reason, it's just an excuse for everyone to spend a lot of money to look nice in an effort to jerk off in front of a crowd to show you how much money they have and that they can look good in an effort to get a nice hard fuck by the end of the night," Ashley replied with a quick grin.

"And you don't like that?" her uncle asked.

"The nice hard fuck part I don't mind," Ashley said as she toyed with a wrench in her lap, "nor do I mind the jerking off part, though frankly in the end I'd rather like the payoff. I can't see any payoff in wearing an expensive outfit just once for the sole purpose of impressing a bunch of people you don't even like."

Her uncle laughed, "No one asked you, right?"

"Well..." Ashley replied with a bit of thought, "one guy did, not my type."

"What's your type? Prison tats and a piece?"

"Nah, I'm simple," Ashley responded as she jumped down from the tool chest, "Goatee or a 36C is my type."

"Well, dress aside is there anything really stopping you?" her uncle asked.

"No," Ashley responded, "not really, it's just not my thing. I know that Gus is throwing an after party later on that I'm probably gonna make an appearance for, but beyond that, I really don't know if I'm gonna give prom a shot."

"Wanna hear what I think?" her uncle asked as he leaned against the hood of a gutted car.

"Always," Ashley replied as she mulled about next to the vehicle.

"Go to prom," he said, then repeating for emphasis, "go to prom and have yourself a good time. It may not look like something that's all that important now, it may not look like 'your thing' but who's to say in the future this isn't your sort of thing? You may look at this in the future wondering if your not going was a big mistake, whether or not it would be something you'd remember, something you'd always have with you. See, you may not think too much of high school now, but when you're out of there you're really going to cherish those people, you're going to miss them like you'd miss a family member dying and you'll want to have those memories that you never had. You don't want to be in a place where you don't have those memories where you could have done something but you didn't, and you wind up kicking yourself afterwards."

It took Ashley only a moment's worth of consideration to understand what her uncle was saying, "Think Aunt Becky can make me a dress or somethin?"

"Only if you let her do hair and makeup too," her uncle replied.

"Bah," Ashley replied, "makeup makes me look like a whore."

"Dude," her uncle replied with a laugh, "you are a whore. Did you listen to anything you were just saying?"

"Fair enough," Ashley replied, "I'll go whole nine yards."

"That's my girl," Kenneth said with a smile as he high-fived his niece, "lemme tell ya, this is a night you're not going to forget."

* * *

"This is a shit idea," Lexie Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 20 said. 

"It's not a shit idea," Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 responded as she shook off the memory, "it's not a good one either, but it's our only one."

"I know it's our only one, but it's a pretty damn bad one," Lexie replied skeptically. She looked on to the mass of metal and airplane seats that Ashley had set up against the cockpit door and more than anything else, feared for her life. Using some rope, Ashley had tied both of the grenades that Paul had tossed their way to the handle of the door and was rigging up some wiring they had removed from a wall panel to act as a bit of a tripwire. To protect from the blast in their rather small fuselage, they had been piling sheets of metal and seats from the floor all over the grenades, hoping to deflect the explosion inwards towards the door as opposed to out in their direction. What worried Lexie wasn't really the explosion, but the shrapnel that was going to be created when the grenades blasted through their shielding.

"If that shooter doesn't get us you're gonna blow us to pieces," Lexie added.

"We're not gonna be blown to pieces," Ashley replied confidently, "we got all this shit in the way, that stuff'll be blown to pieces before it gets to any of us."

"Ummm, Ashley?" Lexie asked.

"What up?" Ashley replied.

"If that stuff blows up, won't it be blowing up in our direction?" Lexie asked skeptically.

"Well, yeah, but the metal will stop the blast," Ashley said, "I think."

"You think, but you don't know?" Lexie shot back harshly.

"Don't know anything out here, just gotta go on what we got, and what we got ain't a whole lot, so it's luck," Ashley stated simply.

"Blast shouldn't be all that strong anyway," Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12 added as he looked to the sky, "these grenades are anti-personnel, not anti-vehicle. We'll be lucky if they blast through the door, let alone all that debris. We all saw what it did back there at the shootout, and the blast wasn't even all as strong as a real grenade at that. Big Wigs probably toned 'em down so we couldn't blow their bunker to bits, so they should be good to break through that door, but probably not the debris."

"How do you know all this shit?" Lexie asked as she looked out to the boy hiding behind the severed piece of landing gear.

"I just do," Paul said with considerable pride, "I make it my business to know, knowing is good, knowing is strong, knowing keeps you in the know and the know is good."

An awkward moment of silence crossed the field as the two girls looked to their cornered compatriot.

"You all right Paul?" Ashley asked.

"Never better!" Paul replied enthusiastically with a bit of a shiver in his voice, "You're there, I'm here, I'm not moving, you're moving, ready to blow up an old plane, hypothermia's probably kicking in, my feet stopped shaking but that's probably because I can't feel them anymore from either the cold or atrophy from sitting in this damned position for so long all because of SOME FUCKING SNIPER WHO WON'T LEAVE US ALONE!"

He rotated his neck with an audible pop as he adjusted his seating position slightly, feeling the last three grenades on his chest experimentally, "But, hey, it's stopped raining at least."

That was one of the few things in the last few hours that really got Ashley's hopes up. At least this island wasn't a total constant and there was some hope for change. The rain had stopped for the moment, but as it seemed the clouds were clearing up and already rays of the moon were beginning to seep through. Soon enough she bet they'd actually get a view of the moon and some light. Yeah, hope for the light, these flashlights are gonna be dying soon. Come on God, a little spotlight would help, ya know?

Feeling around in her back pocket, Ashley pulled out the hip flask she'd stolen from Peter... what was it, two days ago already? Man, feels like it was just five minutes ago.

"Paul," Ashley said as she approached the edge of the fuselage. Getting his attention, she tossed the whiskey into her friends lap.

"What's this?" he asked.

"What do you think it is? It'll help warm you up, trust me," Ashley responded with a friendly smile.

"Common misconception," he said with another shiver, "alcohol takes blood flow from the extremities and pumps it through the core, so while you think you're warm you're really just messing up the blood. Besides, I don't drink."

"You're probly right," Ashley responded, "but it's Maker's Mark, good shit too, and extremities be damned that's good stuff and if there's anyone I've known who could use a good buzz it's you."

Paul looked to the girl he had a crush on and realized that he really couldn't say no to her. No matter how delirious he might be from the pain, no matter how much feeling he'd lost from the cold, Ashley was right. She was always right. Sometimes in a fucked up way, but right nevertheless. Unscrewing the cap from the flask, he took a sip of the hot, searing liquid. Trying to choke it down, he wound up coughing loudly and explosively.

"Not bad eh?" Ashley asked with a laugh.

"Good shit," Paul lied with another cough, "just the way I like it."

Looking to the sky as he continued to cough, Paul couldn't help but feel some sense of admiration. For the last day it had been a cold, wet and dark hell, yet now the clouds were parted. The moon shone brightly through and illuminated the field.

"Will you look at that?" Paul asked idly.

"Man, that is bright," Lexie observed, "so much for escape under the cover of darkness."

"Hey, Paul, booze ain't free, toss it back," Ashley fired out, "come on, give it here."

"Sure, no prob," Paul said as he held the silver flask in his hand. Rubbing his fingers over the grooves on the edge he could feel them making out some engraved initials. PL. Peter Larkin. The girl you love murdered this guy in cold blood, now isn't that a little bit fucked up? Then again, you cut up Brian real good with that chainsaw, so judging Ashley on being a murderer would be a bit hypocritical, right? Actually, come to think of it she has two to your one, maybe that's something worth judging, ah fuck it-

Paul tossed the flask end over end, watching as the glint from the metal caught the rays of the moon and reflected them around as it rotated on its axis. For a fraction of a second it was a pretty sight, at least until they could hear that telltale pop in the distance and watched as the flask rotated violently and slammed into the wall of the fuselage.

"JESUS!" Lexie cried out in surprise.

"Damn they're good!" Paul said almost laughing yet minding the fact that this same person had nearly taken his entire ear lobe off with a nearly identical shot, "how's the booze?"

Ashley looked down in the dim light, picking the flask from the ground and noting its surface.

"Not that good," Ashley said with a wry grin, then flashing the flask for the rest to see, "they just nicked the edge. No holes, booze is still here."

"Now that's what I like to hear!" Paul said enthusiastically.

"I thought you didn't drink," Ashley commented.

"Yeah, well the last two days have been a good time for firsts," Paul replied, "I can't say I'm too fond of the liquor, but, well, it feels gooood."

As another shot from their sniper in the tower ricocheted off the base of the landing gear that Paul hid behind, he shut up.

"You know that's really getting irritating," Paul lamented.

"It's like they're toying with us," Lexie added as she retreated further into the fuselage, "they're teasing."

"Teasing hurts," Ashley declared, then continuing with a joke as the others shot her confused looks, "haven't you seen all those posters in the counselor's office? Teasing's not good for people, and Teasing Hurts."

Feeling the leather sheath by her leg, Ashley pulled free the sawed off shotgun that she kept for reassurance. Sure enough, it was there, and it was as good a boomstick as ever.

"Then again, so does a double blast of buckshot. I swear, when we get out of here, I'm so going up there and shoving this sawed-off up their ass."

"Ash, no, please," Lexie pleaded, "we're just going, just gonna run away, get out of here and run away and not look back, right? If we try to go up there we're all gonna die!"

"Yeah, I know," Ashley responded, "just got into the moment."

Stuffing the flask into her back pocket, Ashley deftly withdrew her crumpled pack of cigarettes and lighter, shaking one out into her lips and lighting it in an almost fluid motion. Changes were coming, for better or for worse they would be coming. Either they bust down the door and escape, bust down the door and find it too damaged in there to break out, they don't bust in and just sit there with their thumbs up their asses, or don't bust in and die from pieces of metal flying out all over the place. Yeah, fun load of options, ain't it?

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Ashley withdrew the cigarette from her lips, "All right, let's do this..."

* * *

The music had a steady beat to it, making it even easier to gyrate against her dance partner. Truth be told, Ashley wasn't entirely positive what was doing it. Maybe it was the pot, maybe the E, maybe the alcohol, she didn't know but she was enjoying it very much. True, her judgment was almost non-existent and her senses impaired, but she was certain of two things, in that Carter was a fool for saying no to the after-prom party, and that Megan Ramires had possibly the softest lips on the planet. 

Whatever it was though, the buzz was good and the music even better. _I Love Rock And Roll!_ Yeah, that said it just about right. Most of the rest of the world was a blur, a sensory overload brought on by the hot girl, the hot drugs, and the sheer fact that this was the infamous prom night she'd been told so much about during her high school career, and believe it or not, Ashley was loving it. All things considered, it wasn't too different from any of the other nights she'd go out partying with her friends, but this was it, _this_ was prom. This would be the last shot for everyone in school to press the flesh and have one big stupid night of fun, and after whatever initial hesitation might have existed, Ashley was eating it up and eating it royally. She'd have been eating something else too if she had her way, but Megan was even more wasted and was frankly rather amazing to still be on her feet now.

As the song wound down, the teens parted.

"Carter's a damn fool, lemme tell you," Ashley said honestly.

"His loss," Megan replied, "we could've done him right I think."

"Like you said," Ashley slurred, "his loss. Damn fool's got a stick up his ass, he'll figure it out one of these days."

"Maybe, but it's his damn problem, not yers," Megan slurred even more, "I think I'm gonna go get another drink, you want one?"

"Yeah, go gemme one too," Ashley said as she stumbled over to a nearby couch, "something cold, I'm roastin here."

"You got it stud," Megan giggled back as she left the room. Ashley was about to holler out that Megan was heading in the wrong direction, more liable to find the street than she was the keg, but, well, she's smart, she'll figure it out.

Ashley couldn't help but feel impressed by the digs as she reclined further into the couch. Gus may be a redneck, he may be a dumbass, and he may even be a complete and total asshole, but damn it if he didn't know how to throw a party. I mean, here he is, total trailer trash yet they're living it up in perfect suburbia, she didn't know how he got all the cash and didn't really give a shit. He was a good guy to an extent and he was funny, so he was good...

Looking across the room though, she could see someone who wasn't good. Hell, he might have even bordered on downright evil. Joel Giovanello, yeah, you know the guy. Dumbass thug, stupid fuck, and the one all the girls swooned over all in one. Why they did was a mystery, since normally Ashley would blame it on stupidity, but damn, even some of the smart girls fell for Joel's charms. Then he'd beat them or yell at them and they'd break up all so he could get another pussy to call his own. Definitely got himself an anger problem. Was it true that he actually gouged some dudes eye out in a fight? Ashley didn't know, nor did she care, but she couldn't help but stare and laugh at the guy. He was a caveman, through and through. Hell, no, calling him a caveman would be an insult to all the real cavemen out there; Joel wouldn't be able to survive on his own. Take out his rich daddy, his army of followers, and what do you get? One stupid, cowering fuck. Yeah, that's right, that's what he is, one stupid, cowering fuck. That suits him just right, dontcha think?

"What you lookin at?" he yelled to her from the other side of the room. Ashley didn't respond, instead just staring back at him with a Cheshire Cat grin. Dumbass thug, always tryin to start somethin he can't finish. With a bit of pride, Ashley took a sip from her beer and just smiled back even wider.

"I said, what you lookin at bitch?" he yelled again.

Ashley couldn't help but find the humor in the caveman's plight, taking a sip from her beer before quipping, "Someone who's gonna look mighty sore without his team jacket after the next drug test."

The thug jumped from his seat, ready to start something and a face redder than any tomato Ashley had seen.

"Oh, you think you're funny bitch?" Joel asked as he raised his voice above the music. CC got up from the couch and tugged on Joel's shoulder.

"Come on baby," she said, "please..."

He pushed her to side, not even watching as she stumbled over and tore her gown, falling to the floor on her ass.

"Yeah, I might," Ashley replied with as she set down her beer. She didn't really have the urge to be starting something that could escalate, but it was pretty damn funny to be toying with a dumbass wrestler like this, particularly one as big a dumbass as Mr. Hot Stuff Giovanello. As she stood up, Ashley observed that a small crowd was beginning to form, and she was beginning to eat it up.

"So you wanna start something?" Joel responded, then yelling as he pulled his shoulders back in a defensive stance, "COME ON, WANNA START SOMETHIN?"

Ashley couldn't help but laugh as she teetered on her unsteady feet, throwing her own shoulders back as she put her arms out and mocked Joel, "Ooh, very scary. Think you can do all this and get me to back down, puh-leaze, I CAN GET LOUD TOO!"

The room broke out in laughter as Ashley taunted the drunken wrestler, getting him steamed off more than any of them had seen before.

He balled up one solid fist and tried to plant it squarely between Ashley's eyes. Even in her haze, she had surprisingly good reflexes, remembering her uncle's lessons as she dodged the hit. Swing after swing he flew far and wide, missing her every time as she landed a peppering of punches on his chest and belly. No damage, she didn't and probably couldn't hurt anyone tonight, but it was pretty damn fun.

Then he pushed it too far, picking her up and throwing her against the wall. It crumpled as she impacted, drywall dust covering her black dress and standing out in stark contrast. Damn, Gus is gonna be sore when he sees this mess. Shit, this dress'll take forever to clean! Getting back to her feet, Ashley walked over a bit more dazed and senses duller than ever before. When it started she had no intention of fighting, but now it was on, oh yeah, it was on.

Then the sirens came.

"Cops are coming!" someone yelled.

"Everybody get the hell out of here!" another shrieked.

With her attention on the people who made a beeline out of the party, Ashley didn't take the time to notice as Joel swung a powerful uppercut to her jaw. What she did know then was that the world became hazy as her feet lost all strength, and that even before the floor rushed up to meet her face, Ashley's prom night became very, very dark.

* * *

"IS SHE BREATHING?" Paul practically yelled at the top of his lungs. 

"I don't know!" Lexie shrieked, "I don't know! I don't know!"

The blast had taken them off guard, the bombs weren't supposed to be that powerful, they just weren't! They'd seen them used earlier, they weren't supposed to go off that big, they were low power, Ashley said so herself! Whatever happened, they didn't secure a piece of metal well enough it seemed, it blew off and slammed into Ashley, slammed into her good and knocked her out against the wall. Now her face only appeared to be a mess of blood and hair as she rolled limply on the floor of the fuselage. Splinters of metal lay all around, some imbedded in the few plastic parts that made up the plane's interior, some cracking through one of the small windows, while the rest found nothing but air. Two however had found Ashley's shoulder, and it took all Lexie could do to stop the bleeding.

"I'm coming, just, I'm coming!" Paul said as he tried to stand up from behind the wheel.

"NO!" Lexie shrieked as she held out a hand to Paul, "No! You'll be shot!"

"I have to help Ashley!"

"Then help me! Stay there!" Lexie hollered, "If you die and Ashley dies then I'm here on my own, and I'm going to die, we have to live, we have to live and we have to stay put or we're all going to die!"

"I can make it!" Paul yelled, "I'm fast!"

"Please, Paul, don't!" Lexie yelled back, "Please, you love Ashley, right? For Ashley, please, don't die! She doesn't want you to die, remember?"

Backing down against the plane wheel, Paul felt frustrated beyond belief. There she was, the girl of his dreams, dying there on the floor of that shitty, rusted hulk of a dead airplane and there was nothing he could do. He couldn't try to stop the bleeding, he couldn't try to calm Lexie down, hell, he couldn't even hold Ashley's hand. Life could be draining out of her right before his eyes and there was nothing, _nothing_, he could do without getting shot and dying right alongside her. This is fucked man, this just, this just, this jus-

"Jesus," Ashley groaned as she rolled to one side, cradling her head in her hands, "that was a helluva thing."

Paul and Lexie both sat back in utter shock as Ashley rolled over onto her stomach and looked out the side of the plane, "Did it work?"

"We... thought you were dead," Lexie said.

"I feel it," Ashley groaned as her arms gave out and she collapsed to the floor to the fuselage, "do I look it?"

"Little bit," was all Paul could choke out, "little bit..."

"I'm just gonna rest for a bit," Ashley said as she successfully rolled onto her back again and coughed out a light mist of blood, "rest for a bit, then we'll run. We'll run. We were born to run."

Like that, Ashley Vasquez, easily one of the strongest competitors in the game, lost her battle against consciousness and passed out. Her head made a thud as it came to rest on the aircraft's floor, though in all honesty she wasn't in much of a position to really care.

"What are we going to do now?" Lexie asked.

"Is the door open?" Paul asked back.

Not even having considered as to checking their mission's success, Lexie looked across the fuselage and could see some blackness beyond the barricade they'd made from sheets of metal and seats. Going over, Lexie pried at the looser pieces, throwing them down to reveal that they had met some success; the door on the other side of the wreckage was ajar. Putting her weight against it, the rusted metal squealed and gave way. It could open!

Bounding on over, Lexie replied, "It's open!"

"Good," Paul said, "good. Think you can make a run for it?"

"No," Lexie responded, "I don't know. Without Ashley and you, I don't know."

"Well," Paul said as he angled his watch to catch the moonlight, "we don't have much time left. If we're going to do something, we have to do it sooner rather than later or there won't be any time left for us to try and make a run for it."

"Can we wait for Ashley?" Lexie asked as she balanced against the edge of the fuselage, "wait for her to wake up?"

Paul mulled the options over in his head, but knew the answer to be an easy one. Ashley was the strongest there, and although in the technical sense Lexie too was pretty damn tough, she'd lost it mentally a long time ago in this thing and would be useless if there wasn't someone to help her up.

"Sure," Paul said in a soothing manner, "sure, let's let her sleep, then you can get out of here. Let's get her while we've still got some dark though."

"Yeah, I understand," Lexie said as she got another glimpse of the tower, "I totally..."

"Totally what?" Paul asked as she trailed off. Lexie didn't respond, her eyes trained on a spot off in the distance.

"What is it?" he asked with more fervor, "What are you seeing?"

"I can see someone..." Lexie said as her eyes strained in the darkness.

"Where?" he continued.

"The edge of the field, they're... insane."

Her eyes followed the shadow as it crossed the darkened field under the full moon, moving in an erratic pattern as it ducked low in the grass. Sure enough, it bobbed up again and leaped through another portion of the long grass and weeds as it moved even closer to the structure. Psycho son of a bitch, Lexie thought, they're actually going TOWARDS the tower? And they're not getting shot? What kind of angel or monster are they?

"They're going to the tower," Lexie said.

Paul wanted to look around and see this shadow, see if it could be anyone or anything good, but in fearing for his life he chose not to, instead looking at his watch.

12:00 am.

God damn it. The last day had just begun.


	53. Hour 48: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 48

16 Contestants Remaining

_My feet hurt mama, can't I get some rest? No baby, you need to keep practicing so you can be the best, you want to be the best now don't you? But I'm really tired, I wanna sit down for a bit. You can't sit down, if you sit down you forget and you get lazy and you become like everyone else, you want to be better than everyone else! I'm really tired though, I can barely stand! Listen you little bitch, you are going to be the best, you're going to go to Julliard, you're going to be a star and to be the best you have to practice, you have to sacrifice! I don't want to be the best! Shut up you little cunt and listen to me all right? If you aren't the best, I won't love you anymore. Mama no! I won't love you and they'll have to take you and send you to one of those orphanages. You know what they do to little girls there don't you? They brutalize them, touch them, fuck them in every hole all day every day. They won't even find you a home so they can keep you for their own. By the time you're seven your belly will be bulging with baby and you'll have to raise the creature that eats away at your soul every moment it lives, you don't want that, don't you? I'll be good mama, I'm sorry, I'll be good! I'll be good..._

* * *

She was twelve when she saw her first dead body, though by then whatever semblance of the emotion known as fear had already been scarred permanently from her psyche. It wasn't anything impressive, just some lonely drifter who had died of exposure under some bridge overpass. Some way, somehow, probably by a fight from the looks of their face, their jacket or overcoat had been stolen and the elements of that cold winter night took their toll. The rain and wind tore at the body, now contorted into a fetal position while its face shown nothing but agony, all hidden from the day and the world underneath this crummy and crappy underpass. 

Still, there he was, only seen by this one little girl who cut school like she tended to do just to get more practice. The studio wasn't open yet, rarely was at this hour in the afternoon, so she wandered as she tended to do. Sometimes she would wander to the store and smell the flowers, other times to the park to run a few laps around the grass, but then the rest of the time she would just wander. Sure, Braiwood was a nice area, but the outskirts, much like the ones she wandered, weren't. Not exactly home to the scum of the Earth, this wasn't South Central or Amberlaine by any degree, but there were gangs about, and there were a fair share of men who wouldn't have minded the chance to have their way with this little girl of twelve years.

That's why mother gave her the blade. If it was in her nature, she would have smiled at the thought, but it wasn't, so she didn't. It was a butterfly knife, or so the nickname went, a seemingly innocuous piecing together of metals that with the flick of the wrist became instant death and disfigurement. Along with being the best, she had to learn to be the best at all costs. Along with the hours of practice and exercise, mother had taught her well in the realm of firearms and self defense. When the world doesn't tell you that you are the best, you learn to tell the world that it's wrong...

Knife or not, the body was more of a curiosity than something that was outright terrifying as it should be to any young girl. There was no question as to whether he was sleeping; there was absolutely no movement whatsoever, no breath, no unconscious rolling, no talking in the sleep, just silence plain and simple. Dried blood came from his split lip and poured down his jaw in a fan-like pattern, while much of his face was pretty worked over. The flies were few and lazy, probably waiting for the humidity to go down so they'd actually be able to fly, but they'd be here soon and they'd be in droves. Sure enough they'd be laying their eggs in his mouth and lips, the young maggots feasting and growing until they grew enough to become flies in their own right, thereby continuing the circle. Crows would then take their turn to pull at the flesh as soon as the smell was enough to attract their attention, and it may have been weeks before anyone else actually discovered it and taken it to either be burned or buried in anonymity.

First reaction by anyone would say that this man was likely beaten to death, but the girl knew otherwise. He was cold when he died, and he wasn't very happy. Does his mama know he's here? Nah, he's too old, his mama's probably dead.

She contemplated touching the body, trying to see what it was like, maybe see if death was as tangible as it really seemed. Sure, there was the body, sure he was dead, but how did death feel? Was it really like all the life leaving your body, something special, or were you just dead, now some big oversized paperweight of rotting flesh and bone?

Calmly, the young girl approached the drifter's corpse. There was no hesitation, no recoil. The stench assaulted her nostrils yet she didn't flinch in the slightest. It was an experience, something to learn, something to remember, and something she may never have the opportunity to do again. Curiosity needed to be satisfied, and it wouldn't be satisfied easily.

The girl placed the tip of her index finger against the dead man's forehead. It felt like skin all right, cooler and with less tension to it, but it was a man's skin nevertheless. The curiosity was still not satisfied, she had to, no, needed to know more. She opened her hand, the fingers stretched out with each tip pressed against the mans face. Slowly, deliberately she pressed her fingers down, stretching out her hand until the palm rested up against the man's forehead. No, more, she had to know more. Her fingertips drifted down to the nearest eyelid, gently and methodically pulling the flesh back. His eye was a mute orb, a sickly yellow color dotted with a small circle of blue, a massive black hole and lines of red radiating from without. This was death, she knew it now. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't glorious, there was no honor or dignity to it, it's just meat. No matter our greatness, in the end people are all the same.

The girl dropped her hand away from the body. It's eye remained open, staring lazily off into space with that wildly dilated pupil. She considered closing it, but thought better of it. In the end, people are all the same. You are not people though, you are great and nearly divine, and soon the world will know. She stepped away, not paying the body any heed and almost completely forgetting it as she continued on to her lessons. The memory would crop up every so often, but with a life as full of pain as hers, she learned to drown it out just like the rest.

The little girl had grown up too fast. It's not that she'd have recognized it or even admitted it had she recognized it, but she did. It wouldn't have been all that hard to draw a timeline of her descent either. Loss of heart, age seven. Loss of innocence to that dirty "agent" whom mother had paid good money, eleven. First known acquaintance with death, age twelve. Loss of soul and the beginning of her life as a mass murderer, age eighteen. She'd grown up too fast. Not that it mattered really, not anymore...

* * *

Girl # 21, Marie Cooper, blinked furiously as she tried the best to clear her eyes out. It happened again. Damn it, you're better than this, it can not happen again! You lost focus, you lost consciousness, you were out of it and useless. They could have escaped, they could have made a run for it and you would have been sleeping. That was sloppy, that was failure, you can not allow that again! 

She trained the sight of her rifle on the wreckage in the field below. The lights were still on, and they still moved. At least one of them, probably all of them were still there. They must still have fear in you, but you got lucky. You can not afford this kind of carelessness again. In the world such carelessness would result in a lack of respect and a lack of fear, something that could be afforded but not desired. In this game though, such carelessness would result in nothing less than failure, and failure here led to nothing more than a cruel and merciless death, not too dissimilar from the kind you've dealt out within the last forty-eight hours. That Mexican thug, Jacob the announcement said, that gorilla and his girl, they had all died with swift efficiency dealt out from the barrel of her rifle. The three notches she had carved in kept as a reminder and a reason to add more. She needed perfection, she desired perfection, she demanded perfection, but it was yet to come. There should be more notches, the three in the field, they were a fluke and they were keeping her from perfection. They had to lose their patience sooner or later though, fear of being cut in half by the explosives of their belts would force them to move. Sooner or later. Marie hoped for sooner, knew it would be later.

She checked her watch, ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes! The last thing she remembered was that explosion from the plane's corpse, loud bang followed by bright light. I must have blacked out. That must not happen again, it can't!

Looking down quickly, Marie confirmed the bottle's location. Still there. She unscrewed the cap, spilling its bitter, sour contents down her throat. Coca-Cola. She hated it. Pure sugar, it can only reach into the body and contort the form, tear away at the cells and ruin any level of perfection that the physical had achieved. She detested the drink, downright loathed it and all its cousins, but even Marie wasn't proud enough to deny its benefits. Caffeine, plain and simple, in all its forms she needed it. Already she had gone through the bottled coffee drinks from the game's sponsors, not nearly as bad, and they had helped, but the Coca-Cola was stronger. Energy, pure and simple, that's all she needed and all she desired. Sleep, here especially, was for the week. She only needed three, four hours a night tops, but this, this was difficult, this was new, this was-

Marie remained with her eyes trained on the window, not letting her stalker get the upper hand. She couldn't see it, but she knew that it was there. Calm, smooth, don't give it a moment, don't give it a chance, just reach for the gun...

She quickly brought the rifle up to her shoulder and aimed it at her attacker.

"Now aren't you a dish if I've ever seen one before?" the creature said with a high, definitely evil voice. It wasn't a voice she'd known, but if she had to place the accent it almost sounded East Coast.

"I'm sorry to have snuck up on you while you were sleeping, but I shall say that I couldn't resist," the creature said as it approached closer. The moonlight wasn't strong, but it wasn't difficult to tell that it was smiling; smiling a monster's smile of broken and crooked teeth that shone through like an animals, "your work is impressive, and I've never really had such opportunity to actually meet with someone who impresses me, so this is a first and please excuse me if my etiquette is not quite up to par."

You're so dead, she thought, you've entered a serpent's pit and you don't even know it yet. You're so dead, you arrogant monster, you're going to die and you're going to die a worthless, peasant's death! She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She tried to rotate the bolt back into place, only then realizing that it was gone.

"Please excuse me," the creature said as it found more light, pulling a long, incredibly thin, yet curved, blade from its back. The molded steel shone through clearly, and although she could see none now, Marie knew that it had been coated with blood. It was an instrument of death this creature possessed, and a potent, beautiful one at that. She could even see the Japanese lion emblazoned on the blade nearly an inch from the handle, the creator's signature. It was perfection.

"I'm sorry I had to make my entrance in such dramatic fashion, but I had to express my admiration and rather preferred to make it through alive," it said with a chuckle as it swung the sword around in show, "so I disassembled your rifle. It is a weapon iconic of you and I dare not rob you of it, and before I leave you'll have your bolt in hand."

Not missing a beat, Marie dropped to the floor and rolled, grabbing her Uzi from the chair she'd placed it on and aiming it with both hands. A squeeze of the trigger and a line of holes would be punctured in this monster's chest, but something was wrong. The gun was light, too light to be of any use.

"Please," the creature replied as it jumped deftly onto a table in the middle of the room, "I do not insult you, so I beg of you to give me a chance to plead my case, so I ask that you do not insult me. I covered your firearms, since I do not believe a good conversation contains gunfire."

She was merciless and determined, crossing the room in several quick steps and pulling free some weapons from the table. She could not trust her guns, the monster most certainly checked them, but there were some that needed no checking, some that were undeniably real. The nunchakus were there, one in each hand. She swung each around, gaining momentum and aiming to intimidate. The creature just laughed, crouching on its table and looking down like some gargoyle.

"I'm not going to fight you," it continued, "it is not in my nature, nor do I wish for it to be in anyone's nature, to murder those I admire and respect. Admiration and respect is not something I dole out like any random person may, but if you insist, I will have to do my best to convince you that this is not the best course of action."

She crouched down low, running across the room and going in for a jump kick. The monster dodged to the side, swinging its sword in such a way that missed Marie yet made sure she'd feel the wind in its wake. Too close. She whirled around on the ground, kicking out one of the table's legs and watching as it fell over. The monster was dazed, rolling on the ground and quickly resheathing its sword. It smiled, giggling, maybe even mocking her. It must pay.

She ran forward, swinging and crossing the nunchaku over one another and going in for the hit. It dodged once, twice, over, under, around, she kicked, she punched, it missed them all. As she swung one of the weapons in a wide arc, the creature reached out with its sole hand to catch it in midair, wrenching it from Marie's grasp and throwing it across the room. Not missing an opportunity, she reached to her ankle and quickly unsheathed Gervase's hunting knife, reaching out to slash the monster's chest. It smiled.

"Like I said," it practically laughed, "do not insult me!"

It planted one foot against her chest and kicked hard, knocking her towards an old bank of rusted electronics that used to keep the planes from crashing. She anticipated the move fortunately, rotating her body to form a delicate cartwheel. With her feet on the bank of equipment, she jumped through the air, landing a firm roundhouse kick in the creature's face. It should have howled, it should have roared, it should have done anything to indicate that it felt pain. Instead it laughed even more.

"Not bad, not bad," it continued with a laugh, "I can now see that my admiration is not in vain, and if I could I would tip a hat to you."

That should have cut it, there should be blood! Instead this stinking creature covered in muck and dried mud just stood there tall as ever and laughed. She ran forward, trying to stab, and meeting the monster's fist like a freight train. It landed in her chest. Hard. It soon landed another punch to the cut that Gervase had made to her shoulder, and for a moment she only saw white. Marie was down on the floor, almost unconscious. No, sleep can not come now, get up, get up and finish the job!

She tried to sit up and found a foot on her throat. With eyes wide open, she saw the blade of the monster's sword as it hovered less than an inch above her eye.

"Now listen," he continued, "I don't want to do anything to injure you, but if you persist I must turn violent and make this a bad night for both of us. I must digress though, for I haven't explained my admiration which I am sure has led to some confusion on your part. You and I both maintain a unique position within this game, for we are rogues."

Marie listened with definite intent, trying to survey the situation and the best way to take advantage of it. There was supposed to be a way out, there had to be a way to escape, there had to be a way to murder this... thing.

"Many a person within this game has decided to avoid pure and simple common sense and has formed alliances, or at the very least allegiances, and placed their lives in the hands of others. Good, bad, otherwise, they just kick back too much for their own good and allow trust to play too great a part in the game. We on the other hand have no trust, as our particular murder sprees have indicated. Jacob, Rudy, Lindsay, and even to an extent Gervase, they've all fallen by you. Admiration is easy really, while I kill for effect, you happen to be an artist. Clear shots to the head, while the carving and dismemberment of Gervase was something that I'll even say made me envious."

As she shifted her weight even in the slightest, the creature pressed hard against her throat. She stopped shifting.

"Our tactics may differ, I choose to go out and murder those I choose to, while you wait for those greedy and foolish bastards to fall into your clutches, only to end their lives as quickly as they began. It's beautiful. I am the Scylla to your Charybdis, and together we form a powerful, sacred bond in our symbiotic nature. I need you, and you need me, and for that I will not kill you. You were meant for a greater death than any I could provide."

It breathed heavily, lowering its head for a moment as its face contorted with pain. Quickly though, it was back to normality and looking down into Marie's eyes.

"My apologies, this game has taken its toll on me. Already I've broken a rib and had this horrible gouge in my neck, and that's all I'm aware of, the fall may have knocked even more loose that I don't know of, but I will tell you that I know I will not live long enough to see game's end. I do not believe my body will allow it."

He coughed absentmindedly, bringing the sword back enough so that he could look once more into her eyes.

"You and me, we are the worst of the worst out here, yet at the same time the greatest. We are in a league shared by few, with only that red-headed harlot and perhaps her attack dog the only ones with any right to walk among us. If I myself cannot see this game through to the end, it must be down to one of the great, one of the truly deserving."

The words struck Marie, yet did not remove her resolve. All she needed was that one moment, that one point of it letting its guard down...

"None of us made the choice to be what we are, of that I am quite sure. No one is born to be the monsters and demons of nightmares. We all dream of being a child again, even the worst of us. Perhaps the worst most of all. But, we cannot have that, and until then we make do with what we have, and what we have is power..."

The thing withdrew its sword entirely, quickly rotating it around and sheathing it on its back. Not a moment later, Marie deftly flung her hips into the air, wrapping her legs around the monster. She may have been unbelievably thin and willowy in appearance, but her dancer's figure was one of pure muscle. Her legs wrapped around the creature's waist like a vice, her back straining as she threw it across the room and into a heap along the floor. No sooner had it gotten to its feet when it laughed a raspy, almost deathly, laugh. With inhuman speed, it withdrew a screwdriver from its belt and threw it towards the young dancer. It pierced her skirt and landed blade down in the ground, effectively pinning her to the floor. The creature calmly went to the table she'd loaded with weapons and withdrew her silenced Glock. With the one hand it possessed, the monster pulled the slide and brought it into its lone hand in a ready firing position.

"I will not kill you. You have too much spirit and deserve to die with time and glory, and I will not take your life."

It set the pistol down, instead snatching up the box of thermite grenades and wrapping it in one of the straps on its backpack in one quick movement. Running over to Marie with hardly a breath, it pulled the screwdriver from the floor and disappeared into the stairwell. Within seconds of its reaching the door, Marie was on her feet with the silenced Glock in hand. She fired three shots in quick succession, each making a fine, smoking hole in the wall yet missing the target entirely. She followed the creature down the winding stairwell, firing three more shots as she caught the shadow in her sights. It was fast, too fast. There's no way... no way this could be human.

Reaching the door, Marie prepared to fling it open yet paused with enough time to save her life. The light was dim, but she could see through the crack in the door a thin line crossing at about chest height. She brought up her flashlight and turned it on. Indeed, there was a fine line of thread crossing the door, and braced in a small gouge of concrete decades old was one of her fragmentation grenades. She hadn't been out all that long, but this monster was fast enough to come up, disassemble her weapons, steal a grenade and make a trap next to the door. As soon as the door opened, the twine would pull the pin from the grenade and blast outwards. Still, the trap was of impeccable design, she had to admit that. The gouge in the wall would actually funnel the blast of the grenade outwards, sending debris towards anyone who dared open the door on either side. There was no doubt that the monster wasn't looking to keep her trapped in, rather, it was a trap designed in such a way to defeat anyone else with enough skills to make it into the tower. That much gave Marie a level of respect for whatever that was, but only a small one.

More than anything, Marie was disgusted. How was it possible that SHE had failed to stay awake? How could she have failed in keeping herself protected? How was it possible? How? It could not happen again, plain and simple, there was no way in HELL that was going to happen again. No way, no how. The thing may have claimed that it respected her, but instead it insulted her.

A glint at the edge of the circle of light caught Marie's attention. She moved the beam an inch to the right and saw something more valuable than any treasure: the bolt from her rifle. Hanging from another piece of twine, it swung gently back and forth with a draft of air. Whoever had attacked her disassembled the rifle in her very own hands with deliberate care, yet also left the most vital part here. No, they didn't leave it, they placed it so she could see and would purposely retrieve it. It was a puzzlement, one that she didn't have the time or care to solve.

Reaching out, Marie grabbed and pulled the bolt from its twine. Those who insulted her, those who got in the way, they no longer were different to Marie. They were all going to die, they were all going to pay. She was going to make sure of it.


	54. Hour 49: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 49

16 Contestants Remaining

"I must be out of my mind," Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12, said to himself, "That's the only thing explaining why we are the way we are right now isn't it? I'm sitting here and not doing anything because I'm crazy. Yeah, I'd have to be crazy to be doing what I'm doing when it's not what I want to do or what I believe in. What do I believe in? That's the hard one to answer now, because you think you believe something when you wake up one day, but the next something happens that makes you change what you believe in. You don't want to believe there's evil in the world, that it's just relegated to the greats like Freddy, Jason, Michael and Chucky, but it really is there. There's people here you wouldn't give one glance either way, people who for all intents and purposes look normal, act normal. They go to school, to work, they go out dancing, fall in love, make love, break up, and yet... they have problems, I think. Problems that make them do things, bad things, horrible things, things that would keep most peo-"

"What the hell are you doing?" Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 asked as she propped herself up on the belly of the plane.

"A dramatic monologue," Paul deadpanned, "I've got a lot on my mind and I figure someone in the world may be interested in hearing it. Have you seen anything more from the tower?"

"No," Lexie Hawk, a.k.a. Girl # 20, replied through her sounds of digging, "there were those flashes, and then that shadow ran off. Haven't seen either hide nor hair of the shooter, I think."

"Only one," Paul mused, "probably means one of them died."

"You wanna test it?" Ashley asked wryly, "Whoever's up there is good, and I'm not really ready to count them out yet."

"Neither am I, I'm just saying it's a possibility, you know?" Paul continued.

"Are we gonna keep talking about this," Lexie asked as she pulled away from the dig, "or are you gonna help me open up this cockpit just in case this freak is still lookin our way."

"Just a second," Ashley said as she pulled a long, flat piece of metal from the debris that she had been lying in. Going to the edge of the fuselage that she knew better than to cross, Ashley inched the piece of metal out into view.

"Chumming?" Paul asked.

"What's that?" Ashley replied as she began to wave the metal up and down.

"Ever see Jaws?" he fired back.

"No," she responded.

"You're missing out," Paul replied with an attempt to arch his neck to see Ashley.

"I tend to do that, so what's chumming?"

"Well, when they went out looking for this shark that had been killing people they needed a way to draw it out in the open and-"

The distinctive popping sound that they had grown to know and fear over the course of the last day echoed across the airfield once more. The piece of metal in Ashley's hands was suddenly wrenched free as one of the heavy bullets from Marie's hunting rifle slammed into it full force.

"Don't they ever sleep?" Paul asked idly.

"Don't look like it," Ashley replied as she hobbled back to her feet, "they're alive and hale and hearty, which means it's back to work on the dig."

"Seems to be..." Paul mused as he dropped his head low.

He found it funny to an extent, at least as funny as anything could be under the circumstances. Let's face it, we're all being stalked by a mad sniper with infinite patience and stamina and impeccable skill, what the hell could be funny at a time like this? Still, Paul did have the wherewithal to find some humor in the situation. We've always got these quests... First it was the crate, then it was the door, and now it's the dig...

Yeah, the dig. At first it was a big deal to blast open the cockpit door since it was a pretty good assumption that the windshield was more than likely busted out with age just like everything else around here. The whole field was covered in rusted metal, pieces of crap that had been left corroding there for upwards of thirty years by the looks of it, the windshield had to be busted out, right? Well, that much was accurate, the windshield had been broken out in whatever accident caused this plane to be in all the pieces it was in. The bad news though was that the higher half of the windshield was blocked by some immovable control panels that had been blasted free and rusted solid, so they were no good. The lower half of the windshield had no such obstruction, yet it was filled with thirty some-odd years of mud that had since solidified into a heavily packed dirt, but with the recent rains was more of a septic, stinking, powerful sludge. So, for the last hour, Lexie and Ashley (mostly Lexie as Ashley was still pretty messed up) had been using random chunks of metal and their bare hands to dig at the mud to widen a hole enough for them to get out of the plane once and for all. Given that the rain was recent and fresh, the more they dug, the more the hole they created filled with fresh mud. That made Paul laugh.

"This is gonna take a while," Paul mused to himself once more, "don't they say insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result?"

He looked over his left shoulder to look into that piece of fuselage yet could only see the muted light coming from their flashlights.

"Yeah, I thought so," he continued along without any stopping, "you know this isn't the first time I've come close to insanity?"

No response. He could hear them talking as they dug and felt free enough to continue.

"Yeah, I was thirteen, one of the coldest damn winters I can remember and we all go out of town to visit the family back east for Christmas. Still, we've got some free time to kill so dad takes Simon and me out to this old hunting lodge and we go out to catch us some deer. Good idea, right? Yeah, it'd have been good if it weren't for the massive snowstorm that trapped us in there for two weeks. We had nothing to eat except maybe fifteen pounds of beef jerky, a tube of mixed nuts and three cases of Cheetos. That's not the crazy part though, you'd think it, but it wasn't, no, the boredom, that was the crazy part. We had no power, no TV, no radio, and one walkman. We only had one tape though, some half-assed recording of Huey Lewis & The News' Greatest Hits."

He nodded to himself, trying to prove a point that he already knew to be true.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I like the guy and he's got some good music, but when you've got two weeks with nothing to do except eat salt and listen to Hip to Be Square you go nuts. I swear, I was thirteen but I wanted to put a bullet in my head. That's insanity, like this. Same deal, different volume."

He heard no response from either of the girls. Yeah, they weren't listening, but they're looking to get us out of here so who's to say them not listening to you is a bad thing?

A sharp snapping of wood off in the tree line caught Paul's attention. He'd gotten used to the strange and sudden noises that this island had to offer, yeah, they were scary but they weren't that bad overall, once you got used to them at least. This one though was a bit different. This snapping moved, rustling in the grass as it approached.

"Hey guys?" Paul asked as he listened to the sound as it approached, "Guys?"

Neither Ashley nor Lexie responded to his plea. Looking on a bit anxiously, Paul listened. The rustling was getting closer. He could even see it part the tall grass as it moved on over his way.

"Guys?"

* * *

The broad was dumb, it was a simple fact. She had to be dumb to be doin what she was doin, I mean, come on, she really trusts a guy like you after all you done? Yeah, she could've killed you at any time and she could still kill you now, but so the fuck what? You trust her, right? Hell no, no, trustin her would be as dumb as trustin you and you're smart enough not to be the kind of person to be trustin you, right? Yeah, dumb bitch. She could've killed you and she didn't, and now she's your meal ticket to making it into the winner's circle. Dumbass thinks I'm one of these big Jesus freaks when she's the real nutjob. She ain't got no respect though, no, she ain't got no respect 'cause she ain't got no fear, and what are you gonna do about that, huh? She's an ally and she ain't got no fear in you, she's the one who thinks she's wearin the pants here. Get rid of her, soon as possible... 

"Ain't you gonna ever wash that off?" Boy # 23, Joel Giovanello, asked.

"Wash what off?" Girl # 2, Katie Snyder replied. Her gaze never left the window of the officers quarters as she stared off into the distance. At what, Joel neither knew or cared for. She was doing the sentry duty obviously, and not a bad job at that, but it still bothered him. Her tank top, the vest, her skirt, that blue headband she wore, they were all covered with bits and spurts of blood from Big V, CC, and god only knew how many other people.

"Dunno if you noticed, but you've still got blood all over you."

"Do I?" Katie mused as she took a glance down at her body. She paid it no heed, soon looking up and back out the window.

"Yeah, you do, aren't ya gonna try and clean it off?"

"I thought the rain washed most of it away," she continued, still looking out the window. Joel couldn't explain why, but the fact that she wasn't moving or giving him any of the attention he demanded by initiating conversation was really beginning to piss him off. Not that that was entirely new or unexpected, but still, it pissed him off.

"It didn't," he replied, "wearing their blood, that's fucked up, and you not lookin at me when I'm talking to you, that's a lack of respect and I cannot handle a lack of respect ya know?"

"Respect," Katie mused as she kept her eye on the window, "you demand it or request it."

"Demand it actually," Joel fired back quickly, "We're here for together and we have to act together and if you want to work with me I'm demanding some respect."

"We may be on similar paths," Katie continued, "but I don't believe you have respect, and for one to earn it, they must have it."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Hearing another echoing gunshot in the distance (Marie shooting in the direction of Paul and his mystery noise as things may have it), Katie tensed up as she tended to do, but relaxed when it revealed itself once more to be absolutely nothing.

"You shot your comrade in an effort to murder me," Katie said with a pause, then continuing, "though it was I who finally killed him, it shows your dedication towards survival at all costs. I commend that, but it shows no loyalty, nor does it show any respect. I've followed you here, seen you in school, I've known what respect you had for your associates, and it was none. The large girl broke her neck and your worry was in losing another of your protectors. Show me respect, demonstrate it, and I will give it back to you as more than just another of His servants, but as a person."

"Fuck you," Joel replied angrily as he jumped to his feet from the chair he sat in, "fuck you and all this bullshit!"

"I tolerate your obscenity, but unless you'd like to feel the fire that I can rain, I'd suggest you limit it until absolutely necessary," Katie replied.

"Are you threatening me?" he asked with more irritation.

"You only threaten yourself," she said coolly, "your manner puts you in a state that borders you on the boundary of life and death. Until I saw your talisman I actually had no thought as to how you'd survived this long, since your efforts were crude and... vulgar."

"Oh vulgar, VULGAR!" he hollered, "I'll show you vulgar!"

Catching her off guard for perhaps the first time, Joel rushed Katie. He slammed the butt of his shotgun into the crook between her shoulder-blades, knocking her forehead into the glass with a definitive shatter. Despite the blood running down her scalp and into her eyes, Katie felt not fear, not pain, but oddly enough pleasure. Smiling as she whirled her head around, Katie smacked Joel in the face with one of her pigtails. She caught him stunned, jumping onto her chair and delivering a powerful kick across Joel's face.

Joel spun around a full 360 degrees, falling to the ground with a powerful thud. Jumping on Joel's back, Katie deftly grabbed the shotgun from his hands and threw it across the room and out of reach. He regained his senses quickly, rolling on the ground and slamming Katie against the wall. Quickly getting to his feet (yet minding his injured right ankle), Joel quickly whipped the revolver and Beretta from his belt, firing each pistol in Katie's direction and missing each time as she rolled.

The girl rolled over her shoulder, nimbly getting back to her feet and kicking an end table in Joel's direction. He fired several shots at the piece of furniture, turning it to splinters as Katie then threw a ceramic lamp his way. Joel was not quick enough to strike the lamp however and caught it heavily against his face as it shattered. Joel howled in pain as Katie cooed delightfully, watching as the wrestler fell to his knees and dropped his pistols.

He looked just in time to see her trying to pull off another of her jumping kicks to his face, at which point he grabbed the wiry girl by her leg and swung her bodily into a nearby table. The ancient and corroded piece of furniture splintered as the wrestler swung the small girl through with considerable ease.

Slightly dazed yet smiling from the feelings that flowed through her body, Katie kicked off the floor with her free leg and swung it into Joel's face. He stumbled into the wall in time to feel that same iron foot braced against his throat. Indeed, as his vision cleared, Joel could see that Katie stood on one of her tiny (yet extremely muscular) legs and had the other braced against his throat. Yet, it was neither of her legs that caught his attention, oh no, it was the barrel of that Beretta that she aimed right in his face. Behind the gun there was that angelic, albeit rather insane face as she looked on with an intense, bright smile. He knew better than to cross that smile.

"The blood is what garnered your attention?" she asked with a roll of the tongue. Katie's tone and look was one that Joel did not recognize from her; one he normally would have equated with lust had it not been for the gun she was pointing in his face. Still, he couldn't help but notice that looking down her leg to the shortened skirt she wore that her panties were visible. Baby blue. Perfect.

"I know that given your proclivities this is probably a poor question to be asking, but have you ever heard of Erzsébet Báthory?"

She let the pressure from her foot on his throat drop enough to let him shake his head.

"I didn't think so," she responded with particular glee, "also known as Elisabeth Bathory and The Blood Queen of Hungary, she was an extremely vain woman. Despite her ravishing beauty she always believed her body to be aging faster than it must and resorted to often... devilish measures to preserve her youth. The queen would torture and mutilate her servant girls and bathe in their blood, often drinking it in the belief that this was the source to the fountain of youth, as well as... a powerful aphrodisiac."

Looking down her toned thighs once more, Joel caught sight of that piece of fabric that covered her holiest of holy spots. It now had a barely visible damp spot, but it was most certainly there. No fucking way...

"Do you find me attractive?" Katie asked as she pressed her foot harder against his throat. Alas, she heard no response from the wrestler and dropped her foot to the floor. She cocked the pistol's hammer.

"That was not a subjective question, more of a demand as you might say," Katie continued as she leveled the pistol at his face.

"Yeah," Joel replied as he rubbed his injured throat, "you ain't my type but you're not bad."

"Given the proper circumstances..." Katie continued, asking with words that seemed to have a hard time leaving her mouth, "would you... fuck me."

"Say what?" Joel asked as he eyed the religious library girl up and down. Even he knew what was right and what was wrong with the world, and he knew even more what was really fucked up. This was one of the latter.

Looking back to the wrestler, Katie couldn't help but smile. She threw the pistol across the room and jumped on Joel, wrapping her powerful legs around his waist as she locked her lips over his ferociously. It took him a long time to realize that this was not an attack but her coming on to him, and he was more than one to reciprocate. She tore at his shirt like a wild beast while he fumbled with the clasps on her bulletproof vest. She bit into the side of his neck with great passion, leading to a sizable welt and bloody semi-circle as he slammed her hard against the wall.

It was true, the situation was, even by Joel's standards, pretty fucked up. Still, even he was one to admit that pussy is pussy, and never once had he come across any bad pussy. Even psychotic-redhead-bible-thumping pussy wasn't all that bad in retrospect.

* * *

"JESUS CHRIST!" Paul yelled as the beast latched its dull teeth around his boot. He struggled the best he could against this monster, this dark shape that was trying to eat his foot for some reason, but it was winning the fight by a wide margin, pulling him away from the wheel slightly as it gnawed on his foot. Once again that sniper from above fired off another shot and made the situation that much more enjoyable. 

"What the hell?" Ashley responded as she saw Paul wrestling with the snorting shape.

"God damn it, get this thing off of me!" Paul yelled as the sniper fired another shot. This one hit the creature, whatever it was, but got only a spray of blood that peppered Paul's face. With his free foot he tried kicking it in the mouth and met with similar success.

"What is that thing?" Lexie asked as she tried to make it out in the low light.

"I don't know, just shoot it!" Ashley hollered back.

Pulling out her pistol, Lexie quickly leveled the weapon and fired off three shots in the darkness, the first two catching air and the third bouncing off Paul's landing gear hideaway.

"Shit don't shoot me!" Paul practically shrieked as he braced his one leg against the ground to keep from being pulled away any further. The thing was merciless, grabbing and wrenching at his boot as he continued to fight. Shit, pull me another foot and you can eat what's left of me if that prick in the tower gets to shooting me, no, can't let that happen now can we? The tale of Paul Holt isn't over yet, it can't be, this has to be a movie someday...

Reaching around to his pack, Paul pulled free his chainsaw and slammed the blunt end into the creature once, twice, three times, enough to force it to let go and take a waddling step back. Although he could hardly see it in the moonlight, he could clearly hear it squeal and howl as it charged him once more. This time prepared, Paul quickly yank-started the weapon and drove its whirring teeth into the side, rolling the weapon until it began carving through bone and flesh. He could feel bits of meat and hot liquid spray all over him, but didn't care in the slightest. It stopped charging.

"God damn!" Paul shouted, "Now THAT was a rush!"

"Jesus..." Lexie remarked as she trained her flashlight on the bloody chunks that Paul had cut apart, "it's a pig."

"Was a pig," Ashley corrected with her own flashlight trained on the now blood-soaked Paul, "think you could've gotten something bigger than that?"

"Funny, thanks," Paul mused, "and for the record I think it was a boar, but, man it's good to remember what this saw's used for."

"You all right Paul?" Ashley asked as she shined the flashlight on his foot.

"I've been better," Paul responded, "I think it bit through to my foot, I'm good, but it bit through. How do I look?"

"Like you just killed a pig with a chainsaw," Ashley replied as she hobbled through the hulk of the fuselage. Heading in to the cockpit, Ashley pulled free the tattered and muddy old uniform jacket from the pilot seat that they'd hung it on. It's nametag read STEEL, but if the set of bones it was wrapped around was any indication, Steel wouldn't be missing it anytime soon. Hobbling back to the edge, she tossed the jacket to Paul.

"You might want to clean yourself up a bit," Ashley continued as she watched Paul begin to wipe himself down.

"This is messed up," Lexie interjected.

"No shit," Ashley replied, "this is all sorts of messed up."

"Yeah," Paul replied as he pulled a chunk of pork from his hair, "I didn't really expect this to be-"

BAM!

"GOD DAMN IT!" Paul yelled in frustration as he cowered behind the piece of landing gear, "THIS IS REALLY STARTING TO PISS ME OFF YOU SON OF A BITCH! I SWEAR I'M GONNA KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS WHEN I GET UP THAT TOWER!"

A long silence passed through the trio as the girls looked to Paul and he looked back blankly.

"Sorry, sorry," he said as he looked to the ground, "I can't, I just... this is getting old."

"Tell me about it," Ashley replied, "tell me about it..."

"We'll get out of here," Lexie continued as she looked to the two who seemed to have lost hope, "we'll get out of here no sweat, just dig ourselves out of the cockpit, run like hell and we'll get out of here."

Her pleas were met with silence as Paul and Ashley just looked the other way. Lexie couldn't help but look on hopefully, even if it was in vain. For the longest time she'd been on the brink of insanity, she'd lost her twin, found herself in a walking state of shock, and yet it was now this crazed hunter who had shown her the light. They may be down, they may be out, but it wasn't over yet, no, it couldn't be over. They'd made it this far, they should have died a long time ago, but no, no, they made it this far. Damn it, they had to make it!

"We're going to get out of here... right?"


	55. Hour 50: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 50

16 Contestants Remaining

He wasn't a big fan of math, though had the unfortunate curse of being good, and damn good, at it. Algebra, Trigonometry, Statistics, no matter what was put in front of him, he could do it and with very little effort. The problem was that it was one of the few subjects he found to be legitimately boring. True, there were many classes that didn't exactly hold the attention like all the others, but they at least had moments, or at least potential for moments, where interest might be piqued. Math was just that, pure, plain and dependable, math was just formulas and would always be formulas, no more, no less. You could plug them into real world situations on some levels, but the rest was practical information. You can win and you can lose in life with numbers playing little if any role in it. The rest was pure memory, sometimes lack thereof, and plain, simple luck.

Regardless, none of that helped him finish the math work any sooner. He'd taken Advanced Placement for one reason or another, maybe because it would help him get into a better college, maybe because he didn't have much better to do, but the workload was killer to say the least. This seat in the library, this pile of papers a half-inch thick and a pencil that was almost worn down to the nub was all he had to show for it. Yeah, get it all done and you'll make Ivy League, that oughta show them. Yeah, real mature attitude you got there.

The thin pile of papers hit the table in front of the boy, but he didn't even have to look up to know what it was.

"How'd you do?" he asked the dark-haired girl.

"You taught me half this stuff, how do you think I did?" she responded with a wry smile.

The boy smiled at her confidence, marveling that someone had enough to rival his own.

"The collective unconscious," he fired back.

"Carl Jung," she replied with an increasing smile.

"Classical conditioning with pigeons and dogs," he replied.

"Ivan Pavlov," she retorted.

"The guy who needs to be told that a cigar is just a cigar," he responded.

"Sigmund Freud," she replied without missing a beat.

"Fun little ink blots that really don't have any bearing on a person's psyche as we've found out in recent times but still have some bearing on the unconscious?"

"Hermann Rorschach," she replied cannily.

"The greatest movie ever made?" he added.

"By your standards or real people's standards?" she shot back mischievously.

"I'm real people just like anyone else, ain't I?"

"Sometimes," the girl responded, then taking the only moment to think she'd taken during their last exchange, "The Howling?"

"Exactly," he replied with a wide grin as he continued to tap his pencil, "you've got the mom from E.T. and Cujo, Slim Pickens and the guy who directed Gremlins, how can this not be the greatest movie ever made?"

"No romantic subplot?" she fired back with a mischievous smile.

"With werewolves trying to eat E.T.'s mom, a romantic subplot is unnecessary, that's a perfect enough movie as is."

"Can't agree with you on that one," the girl replied, "but you saved my life again, so I can't complain either."

"So do you want to answer my question?" the boy asked with his slightly crooked smile, "How'd you do?"

Beaming like she never had before, Lenore Raven flipped the papers over to reveal a bright red "A, CONGRATULATIONS!" written in big letters. She smiled the smile that would one day land her a modeling contract somewhere far away from Braiwood, but for now, it settled for pure, unadulterated pride in a job well done. The boy, her tutor, couldn't help but smile back. He'd been tutoring classmates for as long as he could remember since, well, he was the best at what he knew. Science, history, computers, mathematics, the knowledge he had stored was second to few, but by far he knew his psychology the best. To many the human brain was a mystery, but for someone with as intimate a relationship with their brain as he, it came only natural.

Regardless of skill, he was rather fond of helping out Lenore. She, unlike most was legitimately interested in learning and was a fast study at that. Five tests he'd help prepare her for, and five tests she'd aced. Not bad, even by his standards. Then again, the fact that she was also unbelievably beautiful helped him look forward to their tutoring sessions. One quarter Puerto Rican, one quarter Japanese and one half Croatian with a last name that reflected none of them, she was an exotic beauty that turned heads on a regular basis. Her jet black hair fell down to the middle of her back, framing deep brown eyes and a figure that most men lusted after yet few would ever see. As a star on the swim team she had made her way into the elite of Braiwood High as one of the Swim Six.

"Am I good, or am I good?" the boy asked with his widest of smiles.

"You're good, but I'm the one who got the grade," she replied, then quickly adding before he could respond, "but I wouldn't have been good without you, so let's say we're both damn good and end it at that?"

"That'll work for me," the boy replied.

"I'm in the mood to celebrate though," Lenore continued as she sat down next to him, "let's go see a movie."

"A movie?" he asked.

"Yeah, you know, a dark place with a bunch of seats where they project a picture on a screen that moves and even talks? I'll even throw in for some popcorn. You saved me, I owe you that much."

The boy mulled his options over for a moment before asking, "When's good for you?"

"How's tonight? They've got the best movie ever made at the Rialto for the midnight movie."

"By your standards or by real people's standards?" the boy quipped in response with a raised eyebrow.

"You're terrible, you know that?" she asked with a bit of a laugh.

"I can be. Midnight's good for me, but I got popcorn."

"Hey, that's not fair," Lenore protested.

"Probably not, but I've still got some honor to me and I could never let someone as pretty as you pay for popcorn. It's on me, maybe I'll let you spring next time."

Lenore couldn't help but blush at the boy's honesty. She knew that she was beautiful and wasn't ashamed to admit it, but to hear someone else, particularly a guy, mention it still got to her. No need to be self-conscious after all...

"You swear?"

"Nope, never," the boy replied with his crooked smile, "but I will pick you up promptly at eleven, how's that sound?"

"It sounds like you're taking care of me pretty nicely," she responded with an earnest grin.

"I'm just doin what I do best," he continued with a nod and a grin.

Lenore giggled lightly, hardly able to contain the glee of the moment, "Where would this world be without Damien Myers?"

Pushing some hair from his eyes as he leaned back in the chair, Damien let out with his semi-cocky smile, "Probably a much better place, but I thank you for your sympathies."

"I highly doubt that," Lenore replied honestly, "you sell yourself short."

"Don't we all..."

* * *

Damien Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17 ran like a man possessed, and all things considered he quite probably was. He was battered in more ways than a human body should survive; a rib broken, coming dangerously close to puncturing his lungs with every breath, a gouge in his neck that was beginning to smell rather septic, and then of course there was that piece of metal lodged in his skull. He may have been numb to it most of the time, but now he knew of it more than ever. It cut something, pressed against another, and overall made the impulses within his brain shoot around in all the ways they shouldn't and yet still let him survive. It used to be simply metal, affecting his behavior on a sporadic basis when the blood pressure would get too high, but no, now it truly had purpose. It had purpose, it had strength, and it had a voice. It was The Demon, pure and simple, and as it was the Demon didn't seem to mind the pain. If anything, it relished it. 

Damien ran at an almost impossible speed through the forest, not minding as the trees lashed at his flesh and broke around him. He could hear the snaps and smell the smells that only the jungle could make (at least for now, once the sun hits the bodies this place is gonna smell dank), yet all feeling seemed to be numb. I'm dying, and I don't care. That's wrong, right?

Damn you've got this whole setup done right now don't you? What do you mean? Running in, killing people, manipulating, working, yeah, you probably won't make it out of here alive but you'll have yourselves a real good time while it's happening at least, right? The others, the real fighters, the ones who have a chance, they're going to get out of here, they're going to kill and they're going to get out of here, right? Probably, yeah. But they're bad people. Who gives a damn if they're bad people? We're bad people too if you haven't realized it yet, murderer, killed 'em all. They all deserved it, they had it coming. No, they _needed_ it. You did this for their own good. Hypocritical bastard, you did this all and you're totally useless. If you were really worth a damn you'd do all this yourself instead of making other people do your work for you. But that isn't _fun_.

Stopping slightly to get his bearings, Damien shook his head to try and get at least one voice to be one he could follow. No, no, no, stop it just stop it you have to focus! Focus! Just focus DAMMIT! You may not like what we've become, you may not like what we've done, but we've done it and we have to keep doing what we've done so there will be a winner, not just another victim like we've become. Just do it, stop pulling all this shit and do it, just do it and get it over with. We're better than this, we can do this, we've got strength and power that none of them could even dream of, not even that attack dog. Yeah, the pit bull, the wrestler, the jock, you could take him. You could take him and you could've killed him and his girl but you didn't... No, their ends are for another time, for battles even greater than this. Just focus, focus, FOCUS!

Closing his eyes forcefully, Damien grunted and arched his neck violently to slam his forehead against a nearby tree. Better.

Getting back into his sprint through the jungle, Damien couldn't help but think back. It was guys like that red girl's creature and those whores that made us know who we were. They made us know our name. They made us... better.

But what about her?

* * *

The Rialto was about as far from a modern movie theater as one could find, yet it had a charm all it's own that still packed the seats. True, it's seats were hard wood and hadn't been changed out for anything close to padded since the twenties, it had a distinct odor between mildew and decades of popcorn butter that was hard to place, and it only showed art house movies during the day, but it was it's midnight movie lineup that was the hit among the Braiwood High students. At first they only showed one midnight movie and only once a week, in the classic Rocky Horror Picture Show. It wasn't all that successful at first, but had its definite audience among college students and those who just couldn't find their way out of the seventies. Eventually they got enough of an audience and started showing other movies on a rotating basis, pretty much anything from the eighties and nineties that had either a cult following or some form of significance in the grand scheme of things. 

Damien looked up at the words on the marquee as he exited the theatre. Say Anything... It's not a movie he'd have gone out and seen on his own since he did not know enough to really say whether or not it'd be something he'd want to see in the first place. But the combination of John Cusack and Cameron Crowe was too much for even Damien to pass up.

He shuddered. Lenore was hanging off his arm a bit wearily. This was waaaaaay past her bedtime it seemed, his too for that matter, but he didn't mind. It was the first time in as long as he knew that he could remember a girl actually wanting to be around him, let alone go out with him. It was a nice feeling, a bit too familiar maybe, but not one that was altogether that bad. Something though... brought back memories. He shuddered again.

"You didn't like the movie, did you?" she asked.

"Did I say that?" Damien replied.

"No, but your face is telling a story," Lenore responded with a warm grin, "It's all right if you don't like the movie, I'm just glad you indulged me in it one night."

"I never said I didn't like the movie, I do," Damien admitted.

"You do now?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do," Damien continued, "classic love story about two people who were never meant to be together in the first place finding a common bond and mutual attraction. Still, the parents of one interfere and do not approve and try to break them apart, but their love is so strong it doesn't allow them to stay apart for long, I mean, this is totally classic Shakespeare. Most people sell the 80's short, but let me tell you there that almost everything that came out of that decade was some of the most amazing storytelling ever known."

He looked back to the girl hanging off of him and noted a confused look on her face.

"Sorry, I got on a rant," Damien added a bit sheepishly.

"No, it's OK, I'm just surprised to see that you appreciated it that much," Lenore replied honestly.

"Surprised?"

"Yeah, really," Lenore continued tiredly as she lay her head against his shoulder once more, "it's an amazing movie, and it will forever have a spot in my heart because it's the ultimate unlikely love story. The guy's not exactly ambitious in life, but he's got the biggest heart. She's beautiful and brilliant, but the rest of the school finds her intimidating so she doesn't have much of a social life."

As they continued on, Damien rolled an empty beer bottle from the ground out of Lenore's way. She smiled.

Nobody thinks it'll work... not her father, not his friends... but somehow it doesn't matter. They go through the ups and downs of emotional vulnerability along the way but they just grow closer together, not apart. It's also quirky and funny, much like the guy himself, and is killer quotable."

She looked into his eyes with a mischievous grin and spoke up a bit jokingly.

"And no offense Damien, but I doubt there's a single girl out there who doesn't want a Lloyd Dobbler for herself. He epitomizes the perfect man. So maybe if you don't get into the story, you could just take notes instead?"

"Funny, you're a regular comedian you know that?" he replied as he stuck out his tongue.

"I have my difficult moments," she responded with a shrug.

"At least you do them adorably," he replied with a grin.

"Thanks," she replied, "but I'm still sorry if they get in your way."

"They don't," he said soothingly, "you're doing just fine. How's this guy got the market cornered on all other guys though? I mean, you say I should take notes, what makes him what it makes him?"

"Well," Lenore replied a bit dreamily, "he's philosophical, he's intelligent even though not everybody knows it, has a killer taste in music, he's a non-conformist, he's funny, he's attractive in an unconventional way, and, well, he likes a sport that isn't widely known or appreciated but doesn't let that get him down."

"Sport of the future," Damien quipped.

Lenore looked back into his eyes genuinely impressed, "You're catching on."

"I'm taking notes," he shot back.

Lenore couldn't help but bite her lip nervously as she looked up and down the scars on his neck. He wasn't so bad, not as bad as they all said...

"You know," she said nervously, "that could also describe you too."

Damien looked down to her hesitantly, "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," Lenore replied a bit hurt.

"Then if you do I gotta wonder why," Damien countered, "I mean, look at me, I am a freakshow incarnate, scarred, mutilated and no good, while you're, look at you, you're..."

"I'm what?"

"Perfect."

"None of us is perfect," Lenore replied with conviction, "and you're not nearly as imperfect as you might have yourself believe. Some people may think you're bad because you look different, but none of them got to know you. I know you, you gave me a chance by not thinking I'm just some dumb swim bimbo and I got the chance to see that you're really an unbelievably nice, sweet guy, that no one was willing to give a chance. I wanted to give you a chance."

"Thank you for that much I guess," Damien responded, "but you should probably run away now for your sake. If anybody saw you and me they'd probably go nuts and I don't want to drag you down with me. I've got a hard enough time making it from day to day as is."

Turning away, Damien pulled his arm from Lenore's.

"Damien, please," she pleaded.

"No, for your sake, don't, please," Damien replied. He would have said more, but she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in close for a kiss. Damien was fast enough to turn away, her lips only finding his scarred cheek.

"I don't want this to hurt you," Damien said softly as he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

"Damien, please," he could hear her plea, but it was no use. Damn it, why are you doing this to her? This isn't right, it isn't good, you hurt her. It's for her own good, she's only in for a world of more hurt if she gets it with a freak like you.

The lights of a car passing slowly caused him to squint, but it wasn't enough to deter his flight. Seriously, look at her and look at you, what'd you do to deserve something so good? It wasn't supposed to be, she's up there and you're down here and, Jesus, just keep going faster maybe it'll go away. _You killed your last girlfriend when she broke you to win._

Just stop it, I've been good, I haven't been freaking out, I haven't let the blood pressure rise, everything's good, everything's happy, the beast is not coming out. Those aren't memories, those are bad dreams, it's all a bad dream. Just run away, run away and let it stop hurting...

"Hey baby, lookin for a good time?" Damien could hear the male voice say from behind.

"No thanks, I'm just going home," he could hear Lenore's voice reply. Turning around, Damien could see that the car that passed him moments before was driving slowly, keeping up with the pace of Lenore as she walked in the opposite direction.

"Awww, come on," the voice from the car said, "we're gonna party, you like to party, don'tcha Lenore?"

"Yeah," another voice came from the car, "I seen you party, you real good at it too."

No, nothing's right about this. This is NOT leading anywhere good. Quickening his stride back in her direction, Damien listened in further on the conversation.

"Come on, just for a few minutes, you'll have fun," a third voice intimated from the back of the car.

"Listen, I'm just going home, but you guys have fun at your party OK? I just need to get some sleep."

Before he could reach Lenore, Damien saw a hand shoot out and grab her by the wrist. She shrieked out, but being a good distance from almost anyone able to hear, it did no good.

"Come on, it'll be fun," the almost beast-like voice hissed from inside the car.

Running now in a full sprint, Damien wrenched Lenore's wrist from the man in the car.

"You OK?" Damien asked her softly.

"Yeah, thank you," Lenore replied.

"HEY!" the voice said from inside the vehicle, "what are you doing here freak show?"

Looking inside, Damien could get a good view of the assailants and looked on with disgust. It's occupants could have been worse, but not by much by Damien's best estimates. Calvin Orkan, Tyler Thorne and Joey Villalobos, all three members of the Braiwood High School football team and all three of them people you normally wouldn't want to mess around with, let alone as drunk as they were. The smell of cheap vodka permeated from the car, and even though he was driving slow and next to the sidewalk, Calvin was weaving about. To top matters off, they were all boyfriends to members of Damien's only declared enemy: The Brat Pack. Calvin, Tyler and Joey were all currently hooked up with Brynn, Cheryl and Serenity respectively, making Damien that much more wary of continuing this on any further.

"Play along," Damien whispered into Lenore's ear. She nodded slightly before Damien bowed down to look in the car's window.

"The lady and I were on a date thank you very much," Damien replied with a proud grin.

"Bull shit," Tyler said with a notable slur.

"Actually, no shit," Lenore replied as she played in with the act, wrapping an arm around Damien's shoulder and stroking his chin with her free hand, "Damien was just getting ready to pick me up before we were going to a private party of our own, wasn't that right."

"Damn right," Damien replied as he got into the fun.

"I thought you said you was goin home," Joey said from the back seat.

"Well, I am going home," Lenore intimated as she looked up at Damien, "that's where I do all my partying."

"Yeah, well somethin's telling me you could do a better party with us instead of the freak show here, we got it where it counts you know?" Calvin laughed out with a grating bray.

"Oh yeah," Lenore challenged as she pulled Damien into a powerful kiss. His hesitance lasted for only a moment before he got into enjoying it very much, wrapping his arm around her and stroking her hair.

"Oh dude, this is really fucked up," Joey hissed.

"Come on babe, come with us real men and we'll show you a good time, we got it where it counts," Tyler said proudly as he imitated humping the glove compartment.

"Please, I could get off better with a roll of pennies than with all you guys combined," Lenore laughed as she kissed Damien's neck, "so FUCK OFF!"

She kicked the side of the car, creating a visible dent in the side. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that this was more than likely a very, very bad move given the situation.

"BITCH!" Calvin yelled as he slammed the parking brake into place. He kicked the door open with such speed and ferocity that it even tested Lenore's fast reflexes to dodge it. In seconds, the three football players all exited the car and began to surround the pair like a pack of wild wolves.

"You have any idea how much this fucking car cost? My dad's going to kick my ass, you know that?" Calvin hollered. He pulled an empty bottle from inside the car, smashing it on a nearby parking meter and pointing it angrily to Damien and Lenore. Lenore disappeared behind Damien's shoulder (a mean feat considering she was three inches taller than him), and did her best to hide in the fear, while Damien did his best to stare them down. He knew there was no comparison between them. At five feet and four inches tall, one hundred thirty-three pounds, Damien Myers was hardly a physical threat to any of the athletes. Hell, Joey was just shy of five foot ten and two hundred pounds and he was the smallest of the three. Things were going to get ugly and they were going to get ugly fast. Don't let the beast out.

Calvin's eyes glazed over for a moment switching from anger to disgust, and after that to a smile that made even Damien's blood chill. It was pure evil, and being somewhat of an expert on the matter, Damien knew that the situation went from worse to screwed.

"You know I don't know what the greater crime is, you two fucking with my car," Calvin said as he motioned to the dent in his car door, then looking up and eying Lenore like a wild beast, "Or such a fine piece of ass like that goin with a freak."

"Freak show's worse man," Tyler laughed maniacally, "crimes against nature beat crimes 'gainst property man anyday."

"Look guys, I don't want this to get bad," Damien said as he held his hand out peaceably. Dropping what was left of his bottle, Calvin grabbed Damien's hand and pulled the one-armed boy hard, slamming his face into the parking meter with a spray of blood.

"It's already there man," Calvin said as he kicked Damien into the parking meter once more, "come on boys, let's do this!"

Joey hopped out from behind the car while Tyler slid across the hood, both star athletes showing surprising agility as they ran down and grabbed Lenore.

"HELP!" she shrieked, getting no attention from any corner of the street. Already the few moviegoers that exited the theater had disappeared, while most anyone else liable to be on the street was already asleep. Nevertheless, she thrashed about in the boys hands, kicking off Tyler's chest with little avail.

As her plight continued, Calvin pummeled Damien repeatedly, actually knocking the parking meter he'd been braced against out of its setting. No, no, this can't be happening, it isn't! They're dragging her off, taking her away, stuffing her in the car. You know what that means, don't you? You know what they're going to do!

SLAM!

Can't, no, don't let it-

CRACK!

They're going to break her, they're breaking you, don't, no, rising, rising, don't go, no, don't let it out don't let it go don't let it out don't let it-

The Beast got out.

Rolling to the side, Damien could hear as Calvin's fist connected with the parking meter, the athlete howling in considerable pain. Getting into a crouching position, he braced his body and delivered a devastating uppercut to Calvin's sternum and sprawled the athlete out onto the ground. Summoning strength that was nearly inhuman, Damien could hear the blood pulsing behind his ears. It's here, it's out, so let it go and let it go big.

Reaching to the base of the parking meter, Damien ripped it from its foundation and swung it above his shoulder, then in a powerful arc that slammed into the downed Calvin's face with a tremendous thud. The football player dropped like a sack of potatoes with a pained groan as he held his bleeding face. Damien hardly took a chance to look at the fallen athlete as he turned his attention to the other two.

As they tried to force Lenore into the back seat, Tyler was the first to feel Damien's wrath as the mutilated boy swung the parking meter underhand, slamming it into the football player's testicles. He screamed a surprisingly high pitch scream as he fell away from the car and onto the curb, quickly curling up into the fetal position as he cried out like a wounded little girl. Joey too had little time to react as he turned around, catching the head of the meter in the center of his chest as Damien thrust it out angrily. Two ribs cracked, yet with the speed that Damien had neither knew it. Swinging it around in another arc, he caught Joey in the side of the head and threw him to the ground out cold.

"Sonofaa BITCH!" Calvin said groggily as blood flowed from his mouth. The football player spat out some teeth as he reached into his pocket, withdrawing and opening a butterfly knife.

"Fuccking freeek," the athlete struggled to spit out as he held the knife threateningly and dove for Damien, "your fault, it's your FAULT! YOU DIE MOTHER-"

Damien didn't hesitate as he dodged the blade, swinging the parking meter around in an arc that threw Calvin into the side of his car. Lifting the weapon over his head, Damien swung it down with incredible strength and crushed all the bones from Calvin's right hand into the side of his car. The athlete hardly had time to yell out in pain as Damien swung the parking meter into his legs, sending him to the ground and knocking him out against the concrete.

"MY FAULT? MY FAULT?" Damien yelled in an almost monstrous tone as he swung the parking meter into Calvin's unconscious form, "I WAS LIVING MY LIFE AND THIS IS ALL MY FAULT?"

He kicked the football player into the side of his car, then reaching up and swinging the heavy pipe into his side again, "I DIDN'T ASK FOR ANY OF THIS AND IT'S MY FAULT?"

"Damien, you're killing him!" Lenore pleaded as she ran up to his side. Like a man possessed, Damien practically roared out in anger as he knocked her to the ground. Lifting the parking meter above his head, he prepared to slam it clear through the girl's face. She cowered back in fear with tears streaming down her face, and it finally hit him.

_Christ, what are you doing? What happened?_

He dropped the parking meter and soon followed it to the ground. It was too close this time, too close...

* * *

The Demon was glad to have found its destination even in the dark, especially in the dark given the dangers that traipsing around this island at night had. Sure, there were the crazies and the murderers out there, but he could handle them. No, running around like the maniac that he was in the pitch darkness, moonlight or not, that was almost more dangerous than the game itself. Fall down a hill, break your leg and die of shock in less than a day and in extreme agony. Run into a snakes nest and get an even more painful death. No, no, surviving is a good thing, especially with what we must do. 

It came to a rest to see that familiar red glow that indicated its new home. Yes, the starting bunker, the place where it all began. It was brilliance, pure brilliance, we should be glad that we thought of it when we did, shouldn't we? The Demon smiled.

As per the rules of the game, almost all of the island would remain Danger Zone free for almost the entirety of the game. It's only in the last three hours where the rest of the island becomes a danger zone, while the area around the starting bunker becomes a free for all zone. It was brilliance, pure and simple; let everyone run willy-nilly for the first major chunk and catch all those strong enough to survive until the end in one place for a true Battle Royale to the death. Last one standing wins, and that, that there is the brilliance.

Already it had been mortally wounded, it wasn't impossible for The Demon to tell. It may have had some chance for survival, but it was limited at best. Survival was a concern, but lacking that survival of the rest of those fit to survive was also important. That was where this plan came into play...

He set the majority of his supplies down at the base of a tree and set to work with the grenades in his belt and machete in hand. The Demon couldn't help but smile at its own successes. Brilliance, pure brilliance, and to think there was time where you didn't think you had it in you my boy, you've made us proud, real proud.

* * *

"_Poor old Johnny Ray,_

_Sounded sad upon the radio, he moved a million hearts in mono._

_Our mothers cried and sang along and who'd blame them._

_Now you're grown, so grown, now I must say more than ever._

_Go Toora Loora Toora Loo-Rye-Aye,_

_and we can sing just like our fathers._

_Come on Eileen,_

_I swear (well he means) At this moment you mean everything,_

_With you in that dress my thoughts I confess verge on dirty,_

_Ah come on Eileen."_

Sure it was sappy, sure it was a one hit wonder, and sure, a band full of wannabe Irish rockers wearing nothing but overalls shouldn't have a place in the history books, but damn it if they didn't know how to make a catchy tune. Damien pressed himself off the ground in a series of one handed pushups that he probably made look easier than they were, doing his best to keep in with the music. It had been two weeks since the attack, his own injuries having been minor at best. Some scrapes, some bruises, nothing worse that'd mess up this face any more than it already is, am I right? They knew they were in a fight though, definitely. Joey lost some teeth and broke two ribs, one of Tyler's testicles had launched itself up into his abdomen so far that the doctors didn't know if they could retrieve it, while Calvin, well, he was in a neck brace, missing all sorts of teeth and had his arm broken in seventeen places, including his shattered fingers. The beauty part though, which was the real kicker, Damien got off on self defense while the three of them got charged with attempted assault and attempted sexual assault. Sure, odds were their case would be dropped, but what justice existed in the universe got them kicked off the football team and expelled from school. Now that was cool.

He laughed hesitantly, getting to his feet and looking in the full length mirror on his closet door. Even in a tank top and gym shorts he didn't look all that impressive, just some wiry little thing covered in scars and more reminders of the accident than he'd like to know. It's just so crazy sometimes, it's just-

The small stone landed on his bed with a barely audible thud, but with his senses adept as they were, Damien knew it the moment it touched his blanket. It was odd to say the least, do people really toss stones at windows anymore?

Looking out through the open window, Damien caught another stone in his right eye.

"Oh my god!" the female voice from below said with a combination of sorrow and laughter, "I'm so sorry!"

"Lenore?" Damien asked as he rubbed his sore eye.

"Yeah, it's me," she replied from the lawn, "I tried coming by earlier in the week, but your mother said you didn't want to see me. I didn't want to believe her so I have to hear it, but, do you want to see me?"

A look of disgust crossed Damien's face, but he did his best to mask it. His adopting parents were good people for the most part, but they were government contractors which made them hardasses to say the least. Still, they've never gone about controlling life this much.

"Meet me at the back door," Damien replied as he darted from his window. It took him mere seconds to turn off the radio and get down the stairs and open the sliding door to allow her inside. He stealthily led her up to his room, whereupon he closed the door so they might have some conversation in private. It was eleven at night and his parents already in bed, but Damien was favoring caution over anything else right now.

"Sorry about that," Damien continued, "my step-mom isn't real fond of me, well, knowing people prettier than I am. Thinks they're all out to use me."

Lenore looked hurt at the remark, but couldn't help asking, "Step-mom?"

"Yeah," Damien replied, "my parents... my parents died in the accident."

"Oh," Lenore said as she looked to the ground silently. It was common knowledge that her parents were killed in an automobile accident when she was only three, so Damien regretted having to tell it to her like that.

"And the Bailey's were kind enough to take me in. They were family friends, I think."

"You think?" she asked.

"I..." Damien added with a pause, "I don't rightly remember anything past the accident."

"I'm so sorry," Lenore said even more sheepishly, "I just... came to see if you were all right."

"Because of the fight?"

"Yeah, because of the fight," Lenore responded, "you really scared me there."

"Physically I'm fine, that was never an issue," Damien said, "I may have gotten my fair share of death threats from the Brat Pack, but that's nothing unusual."

Finding a hard time to put the next words together, Damien sat on his bed. Although he hadn't asked her to, Lenore sat beside him.

"I just can't come to terms with what I did to you."

"I'm fine," Lenore replied, "you just got caught up in the moment."

"No, I'm not fine, and that's not me getting caught up in the moment," he shot back, "no. It's me losing control."

"Control?" Lenore asked inquisitively.

Damien sighed, confessing a history that only he knew, "I've got a condition. I was really torn up in the accident, there was an explosion, and... I should've been dead."

_Liar._

"I should've been dead but I wasn't. I woke up in a hospital, I wasn't whole. The doctors, they said I had a piece of metal still in my skull."

Lenore looked on speechlessly as Damien continued, "It's in my brain. It doesn't really interrupt with anything, but they say that taking it out in the position that it's in would kill me."

"My god..." Lenore replied.

"I can live with it though, it's not a problem," he responded quickly, then adding, "the doctors said I wouldn't live more than three months and look at me now. I'm fit and proper."

He looked on with certain pride, feeling sorry when the pride transformed into a slight grimace.

"The only problem is that it runs up against a major blood vessel. It's no danger to cut it open, but when my blood pressure gets too high, the metal presses up against the part of my brain that controls aggression. I don't know why, but when that happens, I just lose control, it's like I see what I'm doing but I have no control over what I am doing, and I hurt people. I could have hurt you, and that... that's something that I couldn't live with."

_Don't trust her like the last one. She hit you with the bomb._

"You were stronger than your anger though, I saw that," Lenore replied with a hand on his shoulder, "you could have struck me but you didn't. You recognized what you were doing and did not allow yourself to harm me, I can't see how you could be worrying about control when you quite obviously showed restraint with me."

"I just..." Damien trailed off as a hint of a tear formed at the corner of his eye, "Why do you even bother with me?"

"Because no one bothered with me," Lenore replied, "No one bothered to see me as something other than a pretty face with a nice rack and long legs. You weren't looking to get into my pants from the moment you met me. People like me have been putting you down for so long, yet you were still willing to give me help when I needed it with no question. You gave me a chance."

He looked into her eyes in an effort to spot sincerity and found it in spades. Could you really be smitten with her?

_Don't do this like the last one. You killed her._

She traced her hands over to his, holding his scarred palm as she looked into his eyes, "We're both orphans on our own. The world didn't want to give us a chance to begin with, but we found each other and I think together we can make our own chances."

As another tear rolled down his face Damien found himself grasping her fingers in his own. Looking up, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her lips. Without a moment's hesitation, she reciprocated.

_You murdered her with a piece of metal you pulled from your own leg._

Falling in with Lenore, for once Damien did not mind with what was being said in the back of his head. Complete and utter lucidity, a concept that had been vacant from Damien's life for as long as he could remember, had returned. As the young lovers bodies joined as one, Damien realized that what was missing was now a part of him again. He was complete.

* * *

The Demon wiped sweat from its brow as it finally finished carving that notch in the base of the heavy tree. It swung the machete once more just to make sure, and certainly enough it helped carve out a deeper V-indentation in the side of the tree. Like it had done for the four others, The Demon placed a thermite grenade in the notch and forced it so that it would stay in. Pulling the ball of twine that he had scavenged from an ancient office from his pocket, he tied one end through the ring of the pin, then walking maybe twenty paces to tie the other end of the twine to another tree at ankle level. Someone walks across, trips the twine, thermite explodes and the tree comes down. 

"Beeeeeeautiful," it couldn't help exclaiming with some glee. Although the area immediately in front of the starting bunker was bathed in the bright red light of the Danger Zone, the Demon had been working within the grid that surrounded it setting up all sorts of booby traps for anyone who was careless enough to blunder into the area without checking. The truly strong, the truly deserving would be able to see them he was certain, while the undeserving, well, they would find out how good Damien really was at making traps. Already he had set up all five thermite grenades along the perimeter of the zone, each set to take down a massive tree and anyone not fast enough to get out of the way. There were maybe a dozen slings of varying sizes and strengths scattered about, and every free place he could find was filled in with a line or two of barbed wire that he had found on an old, rusty reel. Sure, most of these traps were non-lethal, but they would certainly make someone's presence known. Either that, or make them wish they were dead. It cackled lightly, taking particular delight in the spider's-web pattern of barbed wire that it had strung up across one of the major pathways. In the day it would be as plainly visible as anything, but at night, well, it might as well have been invisible.

Running along through the bushes (and being mindful of the various trip wires he had set up along the way), The Demon spotted another tree that would be rather fitting. It was tall, solid, lots of good branches for stringing things up. Another sling? No, that'd be too simple. Rock slide? That'd be a good one, but not proper. A dead fall? Yeah, now that'd be the trick. Just rig up some log or heavy rock with some wood and have it drop when they cross the trip wire. That was the beauty part.

It set the machete and samurai sword within a nook at the tree's base (invisible to anyone did not know where to look), climbing up the tree with surprising grace. Even with one arm he had little problem pulling his body up from branch to branch, wrapping his legs around the trunk for added support.

Finally reaching about fifty feet vertically, The Demon found the proper limb. It'd support the most weight. The others, they were good, but this, this one was perfect. It's a little high up though, gonna probably need more rope than we've already got around our chest. No bother, there's plenty of rope 'round this island if you're really willing to look for it, just gotta look in the right places, that's all.

Beginning its descent, The Demon did its best to find load bearing branches, yet found itself catching one about fifteen feet off the ground that just wasn't designed to support a body's weight. _Not again..._

Falling through air, The Demon hit the ground. Hard. Wind sucked painfully into his lungs through dry lips as it cursed its luck. Damn it, that was stupid. We can't make mistakes like that lest we reach a demise earlier than is needed. We musn't-

Sound. There were others. They could hear the footsteps, silent though they tried to be, but in the forest, nothing could be silent. The Demon groped blindly for a weapon, no, wrong side of the tree, the blades, they're on the other. Helpless! We're helpless!

Whirling around, The Demon pulled the screwdriver from his belt and held it like a knife. It did it in time to see the attackers and dodge to the side, though not enough to avoid the attack entirely. The point from the arrowhead fired through the edge of its shirt and into the tree, effectively pinning The Demon in place and leaving it vulnerable for attack. No time, no room, no strength to stab!

Seeing a shadow holding an ax above their head, The Demon yelled quickly and pitifully, "Please don't kill me! I know where the weapons were dropped yesterday morning! They're still there!"

The approaching shadow stopped moving.

"What did you say?" a female voice asked.

"I was at the airfield this morning, I saw where the weapons were dropped from the plane. I took some of them and hid the rest because I didn't think I could carry them all, but then I was attacked, and, God, this screwdriver is all I got, please don't kill me for the love of God I'll show you where to find the weapons!"

"I'm going to shoot him," the shorter female replied undaunted.

"Wait!" the taller female pressed as she held the ax in front of her, "We could use those weapons, and if he hid them he could show us where they are."

"It's Damien The Demon for Christ's sake, he's killed, how many people already?"

"Lots," the taller replied, "but look at him now, he's unarmed. Really."

Normally it would have taken offense to any quips regarding the loss of its arm, but now it was simply happy to be alive and cracked a friendly, albeit crooked, smile as it looked to the girls.

"He could kill us though," the shorter girl continued.

"Look," the taller girl replied, "we're a team, right? You and me work together."

"Yeah, but not for the sake of some piece of garbage like this," the shorter one fired back.

"I know, but I also know that we've got jack squat for weapons right now, and we could use whatever weapons are hidden there. He's got less than we do. Look, we can tie him up with the rope and make him show us where the weapons are, it'll be easy," the tall one replied. A long moment of silence followed, though The Demon knew enough that the girls were staring one another down in this power struggle. Surely enough, one of them did win, though not the one he had expected.

"All right," Lara Drake, a.k.a. Girl # 24, added as she lowered the crossbow, "but if he makes any moves, ANY move, I'm going to shoot him in the head myself."

"You do that," Lori Nicotero, a.k.a. Girl # 1 replied as she lowered her ax, "that's fair. You tie him up, I'm horrible with knots."

Lara walked over to The Demon a bit disgustedly, snatching the screwdriver from his hand and placing it in her belt. It could have fought her off, ripping the arm of the flimsy shirt from the tree and ramming the screwdriver through her skull. It wouldn't have been difficult to grab the crossbow up and land a few arrows in tall model girl's chest either, but, well, its plea for mere survival actually lent itself to a potentially good time. If anything, The Demon was rather interested in what would happen if these girls were led to the airfield. Miss Cooper would almost certainly give them an interesting time, that was a certainty.

Lara tied a clumsy knot of rope around The Demon's only wrist and then his neck. It would have been easy to wriggle out of, yet it made it seem as if they were the tightest knots in the world. Really, what was going to happen to them would be most certainly epic, and it was almost impossible to keep from laughing.

"Keep moving," Lara said threateningly as she held one end of the rope in one hand as if it were a leash while holding her crossbow in the other, "and don't try anything funny or else I'll put one through you."

"Oh no, I'd never dream of doing that," it replied almost honestly, "I'd never do that for the world..."

* * *

She held him close, her hands around his neck as she rested her forehead on his scarred chest, her beads of sweat mingling with his own. Damien pulled the blanket higher with his good hand, trying to look down with a smile, yet still wondering what he had done to deserve something so amazing. 

"You're trembling," she noted with a hint of a smile.

"I'll be fine," he replied with a wavering voice.

"Damien?" Lenore asked.

"Yeah?" Damien responded to the best of his abilities.

"Would you go to prom with me?"

For once in his life, it took little hesitation to respond to what otherwise would have been a typical open and shut situation.

"I'd love to," he replied with his crooked smile, pulling his new girlfriend in closer as they snuggled under the covers.

In the long run, had he known what would have happened, Damien probably would have emphatically said no. Instead, it led to a chain of events that culminated in Prom Night 2003 that would give birth to perhaps the fiercest, if not most sadistic, competitor that the Battle Royale Program would ever know: The Demon.


	56. Hour 51: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 51

16 Contestants Remaining

The music pounded with some regularity, but she could not hear it above the beat of her own heart. He's gone, relax, just get out... and relax. He's gone. You're safe. He's gone. I Melt With You is playing. You like that song, right?

"Are you all right?" Carter asked.

"Fine, I'm fine, yeah, I'm fine," Katherine replied with a distinct quiver to her voice. She was anything but fine, but it wasn't something she'd have admitted without some work. This wasn't what she came for. This wasn't a prom night, this was, just, this was crazy. He wasn't supposed to be here, he got probation, he's supposed to stay a hundred feet away from you, but why the hell was he here?

"You don't look all right," Carter responded.

"I'm fine," Katherine shot back.

"OK, OK, I'm sorry," Carter said in the darkness. Katherine looked over to the boy but could barely make out his outline as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He saved your life, or at least what semblance of innocence you still have.

"Thank you," Katherine finally admitted.

"For what?"

"For this," Katherine said as her voice steadied a bit, "do you know about Jeremy?"

"Yeah," Carter replied as he leaned against the door, "yeah I do."

"Then you know why I'm thanking you and why I'm not fine," Katherine responded as she began to break down. People always expect you to be the strong one, the dependable one, the one who will solve all the problems because you're so smart and so sweet. You're the one everyone loves and likes, but what the hell am I supposed to do when I just can't get the strength?

She sniffled slightly, trying to look off into space but failing in the pitch black that the closet afforded. It wasn't an exceptionally big room, maybe the size of an average sized-pantry. The smell of cleanser was thick and she couldn't help but hope that her eyes and nose were running because of that, but even Katherine knew better. You weren't strong enough, just cry, it's normal, and he won't mind right? He doesn't even know you that well, Christ, how did that happen? You've known him for how long, always had your kind words and never had more than a sentence or two worth of conversations with him, and this guy in this flashy Hawaiian shirt (Christ, who wears a Hawaiian shirt to prom?) pulls you from the lion's mouth? This should be more than thanks, this should be-

"I never said you weren't fine," Carter noted a bit lightly, "just that you didn't look like you were all right. All things considered you look pretty fine tonight."

Katherine was taken aback by his boldness yet still found herself laughing slightly at the situation.

"You what?"

"Sorry, sorry," Carter said, "I haven't had much practice with this whole complimenting girls thing, I'm sorry if that came out wrong."

"It didn't come out wrong," Katherine laughed slightly, "it's just a bit of a surprise, that's all."

"I tried," Carter replied honestly. Although she couldn't see it, Katherine was quite certain that he added a shrug.

"Thank you," Katherine blurted out a bit abruptly, "it's the thought that counts."

She sighed. He was always there, she could see it now. He was always there to ask you how your day was, and he always meant it too. Carter wasn't just in it for the pleasantries, he wasn't one of those guys eying her up and down. He was just...

"Carter?" she asked.

"Yeah?" he responded.

"Thank you..." Katherine let out hesitantly, "thank you for being so-"

The jarring wail of a fire alarm stole Katherine from her moment of opening up, instead forcing her to duck to the ground as she covered her ears. Carter did the same, cupping his ears and trying to block out the painful noise as he reached for the door.

"It's a fire!" Carter yelled, even though Katherine could only hear a portion of it. The klaxon drowned out almost all other sound, almost so loud she wanted to scream. There must be a speaker or something in the closet. Perfect, just perfect.

Grasping for the handle, Carter opened the door to see that... it's raining inside? Must be the sprinklers, but aren't those supposed to work differently than the alarms?

He stepped out into the hall and the screaming crowd that surged like an ocean swell, sucking him in lest he be pulled out and trampled. She could see him look back as he cried out, but couldn't hear what he was saying. Katherine stepped back with a certain level of fear, not wanting to get sucked into and torn apart by this mob. Damn it, where did he go? Why didn't you just get out and say it...

_I just wanted to thank you for being so nice._

* * *

"You don't trust me, do you?" Bo Adrian, a.k.a. Boy # 11 said to a pair of deaf ears. Girl # 4, Katherine Farraday, looked up from the floor to the dim outline of the British foreign exchange student. There wasn't really enough illumination to really see him, but the unmistakable orange glow from the cigarette hanging in his lips was undeniable. Morley's... he must've stole them off of Anna. Unconsciously she looked to the glowing face of her watch. 

3:34 am. Time's running out faster than you think...

"I never said I didn't trust you," Katherine replied a bit hesitantly. From the moment she had seen that Bo was among the occupants of SABRE base, she had wanted to turn tail and run like mad in the opposite direction. How long ago was it that he and a bunch of other guys were shooting at you? They'd been rotating among the group members to do sentry duty and so far she'd been able to avoid Bo, but with Doug in back still trying to get the computer working and Jenny on the rotation to take a nap, it was unavoidable.

"It's all right if you don't," Bo responded honestly as he puffed out a fair amount of smoke, "I'd be fine with it. If I was you I probably wouldn't be taking very kind to me neither lass. Lord knows I wouldn't trust someone who looked like they were trying to kill me."

"That's fair," Katherine said, still not convinced.

"I'm not asking you to trust me really," Bo continued, "but I do want you to know that trust me or not I'm in with the group here. I'm willing to fight for this if it means we all survive."

"What if we don't?" Katherine asked a bit harshly, "Would you stick with us if you had an inclination that this plan might not work and that fighting the rest of us seemed the only way to get out?"

"Honestly..." Bo responded, "I don't think that's an entirely fair question."

"It isn't?" Katherine shot back, "Gus thought things might go downhill and look what happened."

"Gus was a fucking moron," Bo replied with a bit of a laugh, "he was dumb and he did something he didn't have to do because he didn't think things through. I'm better though."

"You're better?"

"Yeah lass, you better believe it," Bo responded with a bit of pride, "I may not be much smarter but I've got more patience than he had which is as good as smarts any day in this game I think. I've got the patience to know to wait to see things are really as bad as I'm afraid they're bad as before making decisions."

Katherine listened intently, still skeptical but more willing to give him a chance as the words flowed from his admittedly thick accent.

"I cannot rule anything out for what I may or may not do," he admitted, "but I'd make sure it was something I had to do and not something that seemed like a good idea at the time but in the long run seemed like a bad idea. We've got a hope and a prayer and the knowhow and all the smart people here to really pull this off. As long as we've got that chance I will fight to the death to bone to make sure this works."

"And if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't, then it doesn't," Bo replied, "it's not going to come to that, but say it does and I rightly don't know what to say. Odds say I'll just stick with the group and hope the numbers save us for the long run. If that goes south though, say I'm surrounded by all your bodies and left out there to fight the wolves you damn well bet I'm going to bust some skulls to live."

He took one final drag from the cigarette before crushing it out on the floor, "What's to say you won't be thinking the same way though? I traveled with the bad people, but is there anything here saying I should trust you more than anyone else here? Besides, I remember you had that gun of yours with you too. You could've killed me just as easily."

Katherine looked a bit flustered as the answer seemed to flee her consciousness. The Brit had her cornered, that much was certain.

"Truce?" she asked with a hand out. Bo took a moment to light up another of the cancer sticks before meeting her hand with one of his own.

"I'll go with that lass," he said as he shook up the pack of cigarettes, "want one?"

"Don't smoke," Katherine responded.

"You're loss, my gain," Bo replied, "I can't say I'm entirely fond of all things American if this game is any indication, but damn it if you guys don't make some of the best tabs I ever had."

"Hey guys?" Girl # 11, Jenny Reese said with a yawn as she walked to the front door beside Katherine and Bo, "I'm taking over for you Kath, your turn to get some sleep."

"Great," Katherine replied earnestly as she got to her feet, "you got a gun?"

"Yeah," Jenny replied as she pointed to her belt. Indeed, she did have the revolver that Gus had been assigned in the beginning of the game tucked into the front of her belt, though that wasn't nearly as intimidating as the slightly blood-tipped and heavily rusted meat hook in her hand.

"Cool, then I..." Katherine said lightly, "am going to hit the hay."

"Catch some good Z's lass, you can take my share," Bo offered in a friendly manner.

"Everyone gets the same," Katherine replied with a smile as she walked away, "I'm not entitled to any more beauty sleep than you are, but I thank you for the offer."

Katherine looked to walk away from the former wrestler, but quickly turned back and offered one more pleasantry, "Bo?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't trust you, I don't know if I ever will and I don't know if I can," Katherine said honestly, "you pointed a gun at me and came within an inch of taking my life and I don't know how I can forgive that."

The boy looked hurt but showed little surprise as she went off on him, but Katherine had something more up her sleeve. It was a trademark she had saved for situations like these, get everything out in the open before showing she really felt.

"But at the same time I'm glad you're with us. It's better than you being against us, since if you were, I'm quite sure we'd all be worse for wear because of it."

Turning around with a bit of a smile, Katherine felt satisfied with herself. She could hear no protestations from Bo and gathered that he was probably satisfied as well, giving her ever the more reason to smile. It was still hard for her to stomach the fact that one of the wrestlers, a gang of thugs who the last time she'd seen them were terrorizing their way around the island, was on their side, but it seemed to be legit. Bo was an all around decent person, maybe not the most intelligent in the world, but he was definitely loyal and definitely determined with what he wanted to do. Maybe treating him that way was a little mean, but, well, he did shoot at you, right? Then again, he shot at you-

"Piece of crap!" she heard the voice yell as she watched the remains of the laptop computer flew from the open door of the meat locker. The machine exploded in a shower of metal and plastic, it's cracked monitor the only part that seemed to still be intact.

"I can fix anything, I can make anything but only if I have the right things to work with and this just isn't good enough! God damn Gus did this and he knew what he was doing but what he was doing was just screwing us over," Doug Rodgers, a.k.a. Boy # 2 continued angrily as he looked down to his hands. Peering in the gap of the meat locker's doors, Katherine watched as he exchanged words with Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1 and quite possibly the only thing that made Katherine really smile.

"I thought you said we could get by without the computer," Carter mentioned.

"We can, I think," Doug replied, "but I'm not certain and if I'm not certain this is going to be an issue. I know I put some good stuff in there and I know that they're not going to be finding it anytime soon unless they've got someone as smart as me, which they won't have because they're the government. I know that we've been careless, we've been talking about escape and all sorts of things outside this room that we shouldn't be talking about, but they haven't killed us which they could have easily done. All they'd have had to do is get all our numbers lined up, press a button and this mess hall would be bloodbath city."

"Then why haven't they?" Carter asked.

"I don't know," Doug admitted, "maybe they don't want to blow this many people in half since we make up such a large portion of the game and it'd be bad for ratings. Maybe they're keeping us around for their own amusement, to see if we're real or if we're just bullshitting. Maybe they're just sick bastards who don't think we're as smart as we are and they're just doing this for their entertainment. Maybe they're just letting us live because they already found our stuff and won't let us escape."

"OK, say the virus and stuff does not work, does that still prevent us from getting out?"

"No, not necessarily," Doug replied, "we can still get the camera and the boat and our belts taken off, but beyond that I don't know. Without taking out their communications and camera system we'll be sitting ducks."

Carter ran his hands through his hair with visible frustration, "So we just have to hope that it's still there."

"No, we don't," Doug replied with a bit of anguish, then switching to pure confidence, "we have to hope that they don't have someone as smart as me."

"We'll pull this off," Carter replied, "just take it easy. You just make sure we need to know what we're going to do and I'll make sure it happens, all right?"

"Yeah, good," Doug replied.

"You sure?" Carter asked seriously.

"Never," Doug responded cheekily, "I'm gonna go stretch my legs, think you can hold things together here?"

Carter looked around with mock difficulty, then back to their resident computer nerd, "I think I can manage."

As the two boys exited the meat locker, Doug made his way into the main dining hall to walk a few laps around the room with a nearly brown flashlight in hand, while Carter groped around blindly in the kitchen. Katherine watched the boy, her eyes already adjusted to the dark, as he felt around and finally grabbed something from one of the counters. She couldn't see what, but the telltale sound of foil ripping told her all she needed to know. MRE. Yum.

"Midnight snack?" she asked from the darkness. The boy cried out in surprise, falling to the floor and dropping his still half-wrapped MRE to the ground.

"Jesus Katherine, you scared me," he said. Katherine couldn't help but giggle. She couldn't explain why and really had no clue as to what set it off, but she couldn't help but laugh slightly at his predicament.

"That's not funny," Carter blurted out even as a smile began to cross his own face.

"You have to admit it is a little funny," she said as she sidled across the room and pulled herself up so that she sat on the counter next to Carter. As the boy pulled himself up from the floor, he did the same and sat next to her.

"I can't believe you can still eat those," Katherine said, "those things are gross."

"Maybe," Carter said as he began to munch on something freeze-dried, "it's good if you think it's something else though. You know, something you like? Got me through more than one family dinner, let me tell you."

"Oh yeah?" Katherine asked, "what's it taste like to you?"

"To me?" Carter replied, waiting a moment for some thought, "Basket of fish and chips from Lowman's, maybe deep fried a bit too much. Drown it out with enough malt vinegar to paralyze a horse with plenty of tartar and ketchup. Wash it down with a tall Coke with just the slightest bit of ice, and you have what I'm eating now."

"Sounds..." Katherine replied with the slightest of grimaces, "yummy."

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it," Carter laughed. He broke off a piece and handed it to Katherine. Much as she didn't like it, she knew that she needed to eat whether she wanted to or not and immediately took a bite.

"What's it taste like to you?" he asked lightly. Katherine took a long moment to think it through, trying not to think of it as the cardboard it felt like in her mouth and instead imagining it as something she'd wanted. The conversation sounded too much like asking a prisoner's last meal to her, but it felt good to think about something that did not involve this stupid game.

"Deep dish Chicago style pizza," Katherine said, "at least one inch solid of cheese, crust and chunky sauce."

"Toppings?"

"Meat, lots of meats, no veggies," Katherine continued, "no need to watch my figure out here so why not go all out, right?"

"You'd never have to worry about your figure," Carter said, "but I'm probably biased."

"That's sweet of you," Katherine replied with a wide smile, "but I've got my vain moments like any other gal I guess."

"Well, while we're going all out, why not get some dessert?"

"Ooh, are you treating?" she asked.

"Sky's the limit," Carter said emphatically with a point into the air.

"Banana split, all the fixings," she said a bit dreamily, "two scoops strawberry, one scoop cookies and cream, covered with maybe a gallon of hot fudge, a cup of nuts, three cans of whipped cream and a jar of cherries."

"Nice," Carter replied as he finished off a portion of the MRE.

"Have you ever wondered..." Katherine said with great hesitation, "what's going to happen to us if we don't get out?"

"I'm not thinking about that," Carter said emphatically, "since that's not something that we are going to have a problem with."

"I know," Katherine said, "but we have to be realistic, it is a very real chance."

"I won't believe it until it happens," Carter said, "but it's not going to happen."

Almost sounds like denial, Katherine thought, but knowing better she only said, "I hope you're right."

"Hey, I've had my moments where I've been spectacularly wrong," Carter quipped in an attempt to lighten the situation, "actually, come to think of it I've been spectacularly wrong pretty often, but, I'm due for a chance at being right. Besides, if this was all so horribly wrong, I wouldn't have had the guts to come up and tell you."

"Tell me what?" she asked.

"That I'm quite certain I'm madly in love with you," Carter replied, "I'm head over heels and probably out of my mind, but if it feels this good it can't be that crazy."

Smiling up at him, Katherine kissed him softly, "You know, that's unbelievably romantic."

"I do my best," he replied.

Katherine looked up to the boy's smile and found herself to be quite smitten. He's so good to you and he has no reason to other than just being head over heels for you. He's not like the others, not like the last... he won't hurt you, he'd never dream of it. He wouldn't violate you or your trust, just look at him, he practically worships you...

Slipping down from the counter, Katherine stepped on her tip toes to plant a light kiss on his chin.

"What was that for?" Carter asked.

"I don't know, maybe I'm a little out of my mind too?" Katherine giggled with a hint of a grin.

"I'm going to use the cot in the meat locker..." she said with surprising confidence as she placed her hands on Carter's, "...would you like to join me?"

The boy looked back to her with distinct confusion. This was probably something he hadn't expected in a million years. I mean, he confessed he'd been in love for so long that he probably never expected any hope of something beyond his wildest dreams to happen. Surprisingly enough, he grasped her hands back and followed her. Katherine couldn't help but smile as she led a slightly disbelieving Carter into the meat locker. Given their combined efforts, it did not take much effort to close the door.

* * *

As is a common principle in nature, the Battle Royale contained a unique balance between the light and the dark. For what evil came out of the game, more heroes would rise. From the grim and grisly death, moments for genuine friendship and compassion shown through. From every scream on one end of the island came a genuine laugh on the other. 

For the occupants of the mess hall this principle could not be any clearer. For the light, nothing could match the beauty of the young lovers merging their bodies as one, while for the dark little could compare to the individual who was moments away from ending their life.


	57. Hour 52: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 52

16 Contestants Remaining

Jenny Reese, a.k.a. Girl # 11 considered the barrel of the gun in her mouth and found that more than anything else, she did not like the taste. It was a silly thing to be thinking about at a time like this, but given her mood it didn't seem all that wrong. She was going to die, no, she _wanted_ to die. The gun she had acquired in Anna's passing had given her more than enough opportunity, but never the right time to pull it off. People were always around, watching, monitoring, making sure that no one was ever alone at any given time. Given, that was the basis behind the sentry plan, but when someone was looking forward to a moment of anonymity it was surprisingly inconvenient. For some reason though, Bo had been called away by Doug and she was left to her own devices. It was perfect timing for something she'd been considering for a while now... and yet it still seemed unbelievably difficult to actually go through with it.

Sighing, she pulled the weapon from her mouth and dropped it to her side. Why couldn't this be easier? It'd have been simple if she just had an idea as to whether or not it hurt. I mean, a bullet to the brain, that's supposed to be painless right? Just a thud and a bang and you're on the ground? There's bodies all over the place, they went pretty quickly that way. Gus hit the ground like a load of bricks when the bullet ripped through his skull.

Then again, maybe it was just temporary insanity, maybe it was not having any sleep, food or any significant amount of water in god only knew how long. Maybe suicide wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but it sure as hell felt right given the time and the place. Maybe it was just... a sign of weakness. _You've based yourself around other people for your entire life, and now you're forced to actually make your own fate. It's not about pleasing everyone for once, it's about just making your own decisions and just pulling it off._

Putting the gun to her chin , Jenny tried not to mind the tears flowing down her cheeks. She looked down to the floor which was now strewn with Polaroid pictures she'd taken from her pack and representing a cross section in time of the graduation experience. People all wearing their gowns and caps, everyone full of smiles without a care in the world as to what was going to happen. Memories...

Jackson flashing a peace sign while Eliza kissed his cheek.

The wrestlers looking tough as they all posed

Blake putting a cocky yet light-hearted fist into the air with defiance.

Ayane, Brynn, Cheryl, Dora and Serenity all primping and preening in front of the camera as if it actually made a difference.

The Swim Six altogether holding their diplomas in the air as they screamed like banshees in celebration. Naomi and Lindsay hugged each other close, Sky was halfway in the air with a jump, while Anna and Lenore were in the middle of a high five. Anna's face was one of calm silence and pure thought. She didn't have to scream, she was just... being Anna.

_They're all dead now. Damn it, why'd it have to be all up like this?_

After what he had done to Anna, Jenny felt little remorse for what she had done to Gus, yet three days of pent up fear and emotion had gotten the better of her. She'd felt sorry for not defending herself earlier in the game. She'd felt sorry for collapsing like a house of cards when things really got bad. She'd felt sorry for just sitting around and doing nothing while everyone else was out being the hero. More than anything else she felt sorry for what happened to Anna. It didn't have to happen, it shouldn't have happened. Of all the people in the world to take, why take her? _Of all of us here Anna's the one who deserved to be here most, and what happens? She dies at the hands of a coward with nothing to show for it._

She looked down to the Polaroid of Anna one last time. _What's wrong with me? Why can't I just do this and let this go when it would all be one hell of a lot easier for the rest of us?_

She looked back to her camera as it nudged its way from the edge of her pack. It seemed silly, out of everything she had taken on the bus, the only thing they took the time to put in her pack was a stupid Polaroid camera. It was made for cheap photos for cheap memories and things you could always look back on, not this! It was just some crappy piece of garbage from Japan that took pictures and always had the red eye in it.

Then again, she'd put down more than her fair share of memories on it. Her room was decorated with albums of pictures she'd taken throughout middle and high school, probably thousands of memories, some of them even worthwhile to be in photo albums, but now... Now they meant nothing. _Christ, that camera means nothing. Why does everything have to have meaning and symbolize something? It's just a silly little device you used to kill time and steal memories with, not something with a grander meaning. Not everything means something, it's just a camera, just some stupid little camera!_

Jenny sighed as she thought it through, not minding the tear that rolled down her cheek in the slightest. They did mean something, otherwise there wouldn't be so many, and otherwise... so many wouldn't have her.

Trying to hold back the remaining tears, she placed the barrel of the gun under her chin and pulled the hammer back. Here goes...

"What are you doing?" the wavering voice asked from behind. Turning yet keeping the gun to her chin, Jenny could see the voice belonged to Michael Baxter, a.k.a. Boy # 21. He was very pale and wrapped in a tattered blanket. Shock. His broken wrist without any treatment was beginning to affect his body and it was doing it with a vengeance. His color was all but gone, his energy almost nil and skin cold and clammy to the touch, yet he still refused to take the cot at the expense of someone else. The last time Jenny saw him he'd been propped out across a bench in the main dining hall, so to see him up and about was a bit of a surprise.

"I don't want you around for this," Jenny blurted out, taking her eyes away from Michael, "you don't want to see this."

"I decide what's best for me," Michael replied with a cough and a grin, "I may not always know what's best but I can decide. I'm going to stay here."

"You want to see me die?" Jenny asked with a sniffle.

"No I don't," Michael responded simply.

"You want to try and talk me out of it?" she asked again.

"Not really, no," Michael replied with little compunction, "I can't stop you from doing what you're doing any more than I could before. Your decision is your decision."

"I'd rather you not be here then," Jenny continued, "I want to do this in private."

"What's so private about this? We've got a camera," Michael said as he motioned to the camera mounted in the ceiling that was currently aimed in their direction, "watching our every move, and you're seriously having a problem with privacy?"

"I'll take what I can get," Jenny said with a gulp, "if you don't leave I'm going to do it anyway. You didn't want to see Gus die and I don't think you'll want to see me go any easier. Jesus, what am I doing arguing with you?"

"I don't know, that's your choice," he replied. Glancing over, she could see Michael looking deep into her eyes. They were piercing and unforgiving.

"You want to see this happen?" she asked again.

"After what happened to Gus, I know you're thinking that I'm thinking yes," Michael said as he shivered, "I mean, you might think I'm a vengeful bitch when I'm really not. I don't want to see anyone die, that's why I have the problem that I do with what you guys did. We've all done some bad stuff and we've all seen even more, but that doesn't mean we should die. Just because you've done some bad things doesn't mean you should die either."

"I'm not doing this because of Gus," Jenny replied as she dropped the gun slightly.

"I didn't think so," Michael replied with another cough, "but I honestly have no other reason for why you'd be putting a gun to your head so I did my best to figure it out. After that it's a bit of a blur.

Silence passed through the room as neither spoke for a moment, broken up as Michael butted in, "So, really, why are you going to kill yourself?"

"I've got my reasons."

"Yeah?" he asked, "What are they?"

"It's all this!" she said as she waved the gun around the room and began to cry, "All of this, that's why I'm doing what I'm doing."

"All this?" Michael asked, "Sorry, I guess I don't know what all of this means. Is there anything you can offer to elaborate on that? I mean, when they ask me what they want to put on your tombstone I think they'd want a bit more than all this."

Tears now flowed freely down her face, yet Michael was merciless, "Come on, just give me a little something to work with."

"You want something?" Jenny practically bawled, "I am in a fucking game run by a country I love where people are made to kill people! I have seen people die in front of me, I am trapped on an island filled with crazy people holding guns and knives and heavy things. God damn it I came into this game with four of my best friends in the world, and they're all dead!"

"We don't know about Lindsay," Michael interjected.

"Just shut up, shut up," she said as she pointed the gun back to her head, "people are dying! Everyone I know is dead! Sky is dead, Naomi is dead, Anna... Anna... god damn it."

Jenny looked to the floor and tried to hold back more of the tears, "I just can't do it."

As Jenny silently wept, Michael did his best to be comforting yet knew more than enough that this situation was going to get worse before it was going to get any better. He knew what he was about to say could backfire extremely, but having been here before more times than he wished to have known, it was better than doing nothing.

"Did you ever tell Anna how you felt?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Jenny replied, not letting the gun move in the slightest.

"Did you ever tell her that... you liked her?" Michael continued.

"You've got a messed up mind you know that?" Jenny accused.

"It's just a question," he said, "I might be wrong."

"It's crazy, how could you even think that?"

Michael shrugged, "I'm an observer, I just say what I see."

"Well you see things wrong," Jenny spat back.

"If I'm seeing things wrong why do you have a gun under your chin? Why are you preparing to blow your head off in the name of someone who was just a friend? I've got some good friends, don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't be willing to kill myself if they didn't mean something fierce to me."

Jenny tried to shoot an angry glare his way but couldn't manage one of more than simple confusion. It was hard to argue with Michael normally, but now he was unbearable. _Just leave already, just leave me in peace._

"You don't know what you're talking about," she replied.

"I don't?" Michael practically laughed, "Just because you've got a gun under your chin and I swallowed a bottle of Xanax doesn't make me not know what I'm talking about. Suicide is suicide no matter how you slice it."

Jenny looked to the boy with the purple and pink dyed hair as he nodded slowly.

"When I was coming out, when I was figuring out what and who I am, I had no idea what the hell I was doing or why I was doing it," he said, "I mean, who's supposed to feel that way? I felt the way I felt because it's who I am, I've come to accept that, but at the time... it was rough. I was worried about what everyone else was thinking, what they would do to me if they found out I was what I was, and I couldn't handle it. I swallowed a bottle of pills and just wanted to get the hell out, but since I'm talking to you here it's pretty obvious that I'm pretty lousy at killing myself."

He coughed, "Figuring out what and who you are is a bitch. I mean, I think it's bad enough for everyone who's supposed to be normal, but when you feel different for one reason or another and you know something's not the way it's supposed to be, it's one hell of a lot worse."

He coughed again while cracking a smile, pulling the blanket around his shoulders as he tried to get some more warmth, "I saw how you looked at Anna, how you hung onto her every word, how you were completely and utterly dedicated to everything she was about, even when I doubt any of us believed what the hell she was saying. What you said when we laid her down kind of confirmed it, and though I'm probably going out on a limb here I'm pretty sure I'm right."

Jenny began to cry with full force as he laid into her. He's crazy, he's just some crazy guy who doesn't know what he's talking about. He's nuts, just don't listen to him, just, don't, he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. He thinks he does but he doesn't, he's nuts, just do what you have to do. Come on, do it, just do it and get it over with. Prove him wrong, just go out and do it, he's not even trying to stop you, just do it and stop listening to him. Just do it, prove him wrong, just do it and prove him wrong. You'll be better. You pretended to be happy before, now just really be happy. Just do it, just... get it over with and do it. Prove him wrong, he's crazy. Just prove him wrong. _Kind of hard to do when he's right, isn't it?_

Breaking down almost entirely, she dropped the pistol to the floor.

"God damn you," she bawled as she collapsed into the boy's side, "God damn you..."

Michael looked around as she sobbed, trying to confirm that they were indeed within a certain level of privacy. Thank God they were. There was enough bad stuff going down as it was, Carter wanting to go running off to that stupid airfield after the announcement to save Ashley and the rest, a revolution to pull off, crazy people running all around... if any one of them lost, they'd all have been lost, and it couldn't happen. They needed everyone, and everyone frosty. The less people saw of Jenny like this, the better.

"I want to go home," she whimpered.

"I know, me too," Michael said as a tear wound its way down his face, "we'll get out soon, I promise."

"Cross your heart?" Jenny asked in an almost childlike manner.

"Never," Michael admitted, "but I'll keep the promise anyway. Promise you'll see it through with us?"

"Yes," she said with some hesitation.

"Promise you'll leave the doing stupid things to me?" he asked with a laugh.

"Sure," she said with a bit of a giggle herself, "sure..."

_God damn you Michael, why did you have to be right about this?_

Trying to find warmth with the wrong person, Jenny nuzzled up against Michael's side. Having had more than enough experience comforting crying girls, Michael placed his good arm around Jenny and did his best to pull her in. Although he had no warmth or real comfort to offer with a body going into shock, the closeness and genuine friendship was all that needed to be spread. She wasn't dead, and she wasn't going to die, and that allowed him to crack a smile despite it all.

Suicide averted, mission accomplished. _Now let's see how much good that does the rest of us..._


	58. Hour 53: 16 Contestants Remaining

Hour 53

16 Contestants Remaining

The Demon carved a path through the jungle, and its two captors followed behind. As the creature stumbled slightly on a root, Girl # 24, Lara Drake, pulled harder on the rope wrapped around it's neck and wrist. The jolt got the beast hard, but it didn't show much more reaction than a simple grimace. For all the girls knew The Demon was simply a pained guide as he led them on their way towards the weapon cache. In many ways it was true; it was leading them to the weapons. It just didn't tell them that the weapons wouldn't be all that easy to acquire.

"Hey hey," it said a bit sarcastically, "don't damage the merchandise ya know?"

"You're with us so we're gonna do as we damn well please," Lara spat back, "this isn't exactly a pleasure trip."

"I know it's not since this isn't really my pleasure," The Demon responded, "but we'd like a little respect don't ya think?"

"We?" Girl # 1, Lori Nicotero asked. From the moment they'd encountered Damien, he had not stopped talking with a goofy grin on his face despite being their captive and being unarmed. Normally the goofy sense of humor that the mutilated boy had would have caused Lori to smile, but now it was genuinely frightening. He was far too cheery for someone being followed by a girl with a crossbow.

"We, I, I sometimes get my pronouns in a mix," it replied, "come on, I've got a chunk of steel in my skull, cut us some slack ya know?"

"No, I don't know and I don't care," Lara said, "you're here to lead us to the weapons stash and that's it, then we're done with you and that's that."

"That's that?" The Demon asked, "I can't even get any playful banter? Come on, I've been alone for the last day now and I'm bored, cut me some slack, I'm just trying to make some conversation here. Besides, if you're going to kill me in cold blood once I show you what in all is going on I might as well get out what I have to say ya know?"

"Do you have to say ya know after everything you say?" Lori asked with some irritation.

"No we don't," The Demon replied, then correcting itself with a smile, "I don't, but I do because I can. Just a little further, over this log here and a hundred meters north."

"You're sure?" Lara asked.

"Positive, deadly positive, and if there's anything I know it's deadly positive," it replied with a bit of glee, "then again, I gather that you two know the same as well."

Lori looked to Lara uncomfortably as they continued to follow The Demon, but neither said anything to stop him.

"I heard the announcement and had to see for myself to make sure," the monster continued, "I know how bad things can get out here, but when they get bad enough that even the announcer can't muster the words to say what happened, well, I just had to see. He was right for not saying, because I must say, wow, you ladies know how to kill."

"Shut up, just, shut up," Lori continued.

"Hear me out, please," The Demon responded with audible glee, "I've killed a few people here already, but I've done it with a certain level of simplicity."

"She told you to shut up," Lara added.

"But you took a distinct level of intensity of murdering Luke," The Demon said as it ignored the girls, "it was very creative. I must wonder though, was the genital mutilation done pre or post-mortem?"

"Just shut the fuck up," Lara said as she tugged on the rope. The Demon fell cleanly to the ground, looking up as Lara thrust the crossbow in his face, "Just shut up you son of a bitch."

"All right, all right," it said rapidly as the smile crossing its face widened only slightly, "I was just saying that it'd reflect a lot upon what kind of serial killers you are. It's rare enough to find cases of two women working together, but two women working together in murders of a distinctly sexual nature really says something. I mean, look at it, if you did that to him while he was alive odds say that it might be something done during the course of a battle, but if it was after he died that shows a distinct level of perversion and intensity on your part, that'd make it a definite sex crime."

"SHUT UP!" Lara said as she cocked the bow string, "JUST SHUT UP! WE did NOT take you this far to listen to all your crap!"

"All right, never mind, never mind, I'll let it die, I was just curious, that's all," it replied as it regained its footing, "mind you it does nothing to earn our admiration nor does it put you among the greats, but it might bring you close to them."

"Just keep walking," Lara said as she kicked the boy in the back of its shin. The Demon hardly winced at the pain (given the gaping wound in the side of its neck and the broken rib, it could not be concerned with many other wounds), instead just guiding them soundlessly through the jungle undergrowth. Looking on to the creature, Lori shuddered. Something was just off. True, she never really had the best judgment in the world, particularly when it came to men, but even she knew that something was not right. What it was, she couldn't quite figure, but it was there, and it scared her.

"What are the greats?"

"The greats?" The Demon mused softly as it craned its neck to push aside a vine. Not wanting to reveal its hand, the beast lied through its crooked and broken teeth.

"The great murderers. Dahmer, Bundy, Gein, Berkowitz, Fish, Milat, Ramirez, the list goes on but look at their work. These are people who brought what we're doing here now into the mainstream, the great serial killers of our time. We're the next generation, this game creates the perfect ones."

Lara looked to speak up again in anger, but Lori waved her hand to silence the girl. They were moving, there was not a whole lot else that could be done to shut him up, and anything that could keep Damien cooperative would be better.

"Maybe not the perfect ones, and more than likely it didn't create them, but it brought them out. We've all got the potential to be good or bad people, heroes or mass murderers, and it's the stress and the danger that brings out what a person is."

It smiled a crooked smile with certain glee, "It's brilliant in that way, simply marvelous. There could be serial killers living among us who never actually kill a single soul because they never had that one push, that one impetus, that one reason to go over the edge and just take that step to kill. This game, this marvelous, beautiful game, it's that impetus. It's that guy on your shoulder telling you to kill, kinda like a little death leprechaun in cruder terms."

"This guy's fucking nuts," Lara whispered into Lori's ear.

_Yes we are,_ The Demon mused to itself as it finally reached the edge of the tree line. From here it all emptied out into the airfield and its mess of chest high grass and plane remains. There were three bodies that The Demon knew of at the very least, though maybe the tiny dancer had added more to its collection in the meantime. Lord knows those three in the wreckage have been persistent, but they can only last so long before someone does something stupid and winds up getting shot.

Still, the monster couldn't help but smile even at its own intelligence. _These girls, they followed blindly until the last moments, and they're HERE, they're actually here, and they're going to face the wrath of the dancer! It's wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Even led them into a blind spot to boot. Marie can't snipe them! These girls aren't only going to face the dancer, they're going to get up close and personal! None of this shoot from afar shit, they're going to get it and they're going to get it good!_

"They're in there," The Demon said as it pointed to the tower, "I stored them within the control room. I'd have taken them with me, but none of that stuff worked for me, it all requires two hands, a luxury I can't say I'm fortunate enough to have. But, I did what I promised, so I may go now, yes?"

It looked pleadingly to the two girls, though neither Lara or Lori looked on with much mercy. The fact remained that Damien Myers, "The Demon" as everyone called him, murdered at least three people directly, and at least a half dozen more indirectly. He was incredibly dangerous, even taking him this far and being around him this long was an amazing feat that both the girls could recognize.

"I'm sorry," Lara said with little feeling as she handed the rope tied around its neck to Lori, "but thank you for taking us here."

Bringing the crossbow to her shoulder, Lara leveled off a shot that would hit the monster clean in its face.

"Wait a second!" it pleaded, "this wasn't part of the deal, I was to be set free!"

"There never was a deal," Lara said coldly. The Demon looked with wide eyes from one girl to the next, maybe a reflection of genuine fear, but truth be told the creature's reaction was about as indiscernible as could be. Lara didn't hesitate in the slightest to fire the shot right between the creature's eyes...

...which understandably led to a certain level of confusion as the creature's head suddenly vanished as it ducked quickly to the side. Instead of cutting through flesh and bone, the crossbow bolt cut through the rope that had been around its neck moments before. In a flash, it ran off into the forest to find a better vantage point, laughing and taunting the entire way.

"Thanks for the ride ladies!" it laughed wildly, "Thanks for the ride!"

"Freak show," Lori shuddered.

"Tell me about it," Lara responded, "that was incredibly stupid. We should have killed him when we had the chance and not made a deal of it. Now he's out there running around like a maniac and will probably kill more people all because we didn't just shoot him when we saw him."

"He led us to the guns though," Lori replied, "neither of us has a real gun, so that's at least evening the field, isn't it?"

"I'm not so sure about it," Lara insisted, "this could be a trap. We don't know that he actually put the weapons in that tower, he could be tricking us and there might be nothing there or it might just be a trap."

"But he could have been telling the truth too, we have to believe him since I don't think we can last without them," Lori said, "look at us, we have a crossbow, a flare gun, and an ax, that's it. Most of the people around I think would have a gun, and some of them have big guns. Some of them have shotguns, some of them have machine guns, and we need to do what we can to even things out. I want to make it to the end and I want to make it to the end with you, and I don't think we can do that without getting some real guns."

"You know, that's probably the least self-involved thing I've heard you say yet," Lara said, legitimately impressed, "All right, let's go."

Leading the way, Lara hefted the crossbow in both hands and held it up defensively. Lori followed shortly, cradling her fire ax in both hands and holding it at the ready. She had known to expect the unexpected and see the worst in this "game". The situation still stunk, but it was about as good as things had gotten since it all began. At least now there would be an equal chance, at least they'd be able to make an impact.

"It's locked," Lara said as she tried the handle, "give it a hit with the ax."

Holding the ax low, Lori swung it like a battering ram and slammed it into the door. The aged piece of wood gave slightly with the impact, but didn't budge all that much. Putting all of her muscle into it, Lori slammed the head of the ax into the wood once more and sent the door flying wide open. Neither girl noted the thin piece of twine that crossed the door as it flew open, and neither paid it any heed.

"Well, that was easy," Lori said as she stepped into the doorway. A fraction of a second before her entire body entered the stairwell, the grenade trap that the creature had set exploded. Small pieces of shrapnel and nails peppered the left side of her body as she was flung across the room screaming. Running in to follow her friend's body, Lara tended to the girl.

"Jesus, Lori!" Lara hollered, "What happened?"

"I don't know, hurts goddamnit!" Lori muttered as she pulled a searing piece of metal from the side of her body. Nothing vital, nothing torn, just flesh wounds. A lot of them, but god damn if they didn't all hurt like hell.

"Let's get out of here!" Lara pleaded as she tried to help Lori to her feet. As she propped Lori up with her shoulder, Lara couldn't help but look up. Sound. Something strange. Just like a tapping that echoed through the cylindrical air traffic control tower's stairwell, but it got closer. A lot closer. Catching several glints of steel as they finally bounded down the stairs, Lara could only muster one word to sum up their situation.

"Shit."

Acting more on instinct than any common sense, she threw her body and Lori to the ground underneath the winding stairs. They protected the two girls from the three fragmentation grenades explosions for the most part, while the supply crates that they had ducked behind took the rest of the blast. Lara cursed as one piece of shrapnel cut through the edge of her shoulder.

_Damn it, bastard's gotta pay._

Getting back to her feet and not hearing any indication of another attack, Lara looked up. The door to exit was maybe ten feet away, while the stairwell led maybe fifty feet up, if that. Escape or anger, escape or anger. Easy choice.

"We can take them!" Lara said angrily as she began bounding up the stairs, "We can take them!"

"Lara, no!" Lori yelled as she followed her friend, "Let's just get out of here now!"

Their attacker suddenly let loose with a free burst from a submachine gun that blasted at the stairs behind them. It seemed as if the shooter was firing blindly, but instead of scaring Lara it merely gave her more strength.

"No turning back now, we have to do this!" Lara said with wild eyes, "We can take this bastard!"

As the pair ran up the stairs, their attacker from above let loose another barrage with the machine gun. The two women pressed themselves as close to the wall as possible, hiding from sight while the bullets bounced harmlessly from the curling stairwell.

"Come on!" Lara yelled as she pulled on the limping Lori's shoulder, "We're almost there! Come on!"

Lori bounded as fast as she could, but the peppering of shrapnel in her leg slowed her immensely. God damn it hurts. Reaching what appeared to be the top of the stairwell, the girls could finally see their attacker. Girl # 21, Marie Cooper, there was no mistaking that head of jet black hair and cold determination. Lori actually found herself surprised that it was a girl doing the attacking, while Lara just wanted to duck as Marie brought up the submachine gun once more.

"Jesus Christ!" Lori yelled as she ducked the Uzi barrage.

"No backing out now!" Lara said again as she watched Marie pause to reload her weapon.

"What are we gonna do?" Lori asked wildly.

"Can't take on weapons like that from here," Lara said quickly, double-checking as Marie reloaded her gun, "do this up close fast!"

"How are we going to do that?" Lori wailed.

"Light the bitch up!" Lara yelled back. Looking around the edge to see Marie struggling to put more ammunition in her weapon, Lara quickly lifted the flare gun from her belt. _Careful, steady, and take your time with the shot_.

Firing off one sailing flare with a trail of sparks, Lara and Lori ducked as the small explosive laced with white phosphorous and magnesium exploded in a brilliant ball with enough pure white light and sparks to fill the entire control room. With some luck, it would also be enough to subdue a talented ballet dancer as well.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Girl # 20, Lexie Hawk said upon hearing the first grenade's explosion. Taking her hands from the massive pile of mud that had been accumulated from their digging out the cockpit, she made her way to the edge to get a better listen. The moment of silence that followed made her almost think that it hadn't happened, but the thudding booms that followed confirmed her view. 

"What the hell is that?" Girl # 5, Ashley Vasquez asked as she hobbled slightly towards the edge of the cockpit. Seconds later, the rapid fire sound of an Uzi echoing throughout the air traffic control tower confirmed it.

"Sounds like a war," Lexie responded, "think someone actually got inside there?"

"I don't know," Ashley replied, "doesn't sound like they're shooting at us though."

"You think?" Lexie continued.

Taking a risk given what had happened over the course of their last day on the island, Ashley warily waved her hand out from the edge of the fuselage. Seconds later, it was still there. That's a new record. Feeling even bolder, she stuck her head out just in time to catch the brilliant white flash of the first flare exploding.

"Jesus," Ashley said, "it really is a war in there."

"Hey guys," Boy # 12, Paul Holt, interjected, "if our attacker's busy fighting a war in there this might be a good time to make a run for things here."

Even Lexie found herself dumbstruck with the boy's logic. For too long all they had known was their hiding place within the plane's debris, it's only rule that leaving the fuselage meant death. Now with that on it's head, it almost came as a surprise that they hadn't bolted the moment Ashley found the coast to be clear.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" Lexie practically shrieked as she made a grab for her backpack. Although a bit slower given her injuries, Ashley was soon to follow with her own pack. For the first time in nearly twenty hours, Lexie and Ashley stepped free from the airplane's fuselage and touched their feet to the natural earth. Struggling to get to his feet given the massive cramping from his position, Paul found his escape jolted to a sudden stop.

"Guys?" Paul practically wailed, "I'm stuck!"

Sure enough, a strap from his bag caught on a piece of rusted metal protruding from the corroded piece of landing gear he'd been hiding behind. Given his position and panic, it almost seemed as if he were tied in place with chains. Exacerbating the situation was the fact that Paul had a difficult time getting to his feet, with every attempt to get to his feet met resistance as he would slip on the innards of the pig he had slaughtered just a while ago.

"Get going!" Ashley yelled to Lexie as she turned back to help Paul, "I'll get him loose!"

Lexie paused for the briefest of moments. If she were to run maybe fifteen yards to the south, she'd make the tree line and absolute safety from the sniper, but that would require leaving Ashley and Paul behind. The thought tore her up, a battle between escape with her own life and escaping with her friends lives.

Despite Ashley, Lexie found herself turning around. Looking to the tower, Lexie watched as a burst of white sparks came from the shattered windows. _What the hell is going on?_

* * *

Marie was blind, and for the first time she could recall she was actually terrified. Losing control was not something she was entirely used to, and this experience was as close as it got. Someone shot a firework at you, wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Find your eyes, just blink the light away and everything will be all right. _You're lucky they didn't take out the grenades with those sparklers._

Doing a quick blind reload, Marie fired her Uzi in a distinct circle. It wasn't really an attempt to kill (although that would have been nice), as much as it was an attempt to subdue her attackers for a moment. The view was getting better, she could make out shadows moving around. Already the dim orange view of the early morning was filtering through and making everything easier.

She fired another long burst and could hear one of the voices shriek in surprise. Female, one at least. Maybe two. As her view solidified, she could watch as the attackers entered her control room and hid from her shower of bullets. She had more guns, more grenades, but they were too far away. These two were coming up close and personal fast and gave Marie few options. Time to fight, and time to fight dirty.

She quickly withdrew the hunting knife from her belt, swinging it around in an arc as Lara tried to level off a shot with the crossbow. Lara stumbled backwards, and taking an opportunity Marie quickly severed the bow and rendered the weapon useless. Lara tried to fire a shot, only watching as the bolt fell harmlessly to the ground.

As she prepared to stab Lara in the chest, Marie could feel the presence of her second attacker and quickly sidestepped Lori's clumsy ax attack. The model swung her weapon a few more times, causing Marie to step back more on the defense than on any level of attack. Dodging to the right, Marie stepped free from Lara attempting to use the crossbow as a bludgeon. Attacks from the left, attacks from the right, Marie was having a difficult time coordinating her attacks between the two girls. _This isn't like the movies, they're all attacking at once. Why aren't they taking their turns?_

Lashing out with the blade, Marie caused the girls to step back enough for her to finally formulate a counter offensive. Placing her hands together, Marie forced her right elbow into Lara's eye, knocking the physically smaller girl back into a bank of old radar equipment. As Lara tried to rebound, Marie quickly swept her leg across the ground and kicked the girls feet from underneath her. In a seemingly impossible move, she spun quickly and gracefully onto one foot like a practiced ballerina. Lori was so awestruck by the move that she didn't have time to react as Marie pulled off an incredibly difficult scorpion kick, arching her back and contorting her leg as she slammed her foot into the top of Lori's skull. The model found herself knocked flat on the floor as Marie continued to rotate gracefully around on one foot, falling back into a comfortable position without so much as a flinch. Had she been able to, she probably would have smiled, but instead she focused back on Lara as the girl regained her footing and attempted another assault.

Jutting her palm upwards into the approaching Lara's face, Marie broke the other girls nose with a gush of blood and the cracking of bone. Lara howled as her knees buckled in pain, falling back against the same rusted piece of radar equipment she'd fallen against moments before. As Marie prepared to strike out with her hunting knife once more, Lori got back to her feet and swung her ax wide in an effort to cleave in the dancer's skull. The blade missed, thoroughly embedding itself in a nearby table as its handle hit Marie's wrist. The knife clattered from her grasp as pain shot through her hand.

Looking up with rage, Marie grabbed the Glock she'd left lying on the table and smashed it into the side of Lori's face. Screaming with pain, Lori let go of the ax and backed away. Marie raised the gun high, firing three quick shots in succession. The first hit nothing but air, while the second clipped Lori in the shoulder and the third landed square in her stomach. With a look of nothing short of surprise, Lori fell back into the doorway that led to the stairwell.

Marie aimed the pistol with a face of pure determination as she prepared to put one bullet between Lori's eyes. Instead she felt a dull thud against the back of her skull. As the world turned on end for a fraction of a second, Marie whirled around to see Lara holding one of the nunchuku from her very own supply. The smaller girl swung the blunt weapon once more as she knocked the Glock free from the dancer's hand. Undeterred, Marie let out with a high kick that caught Lara in the base of her jaw. As Lara stumbled backwards, Marie picked the hunting knife she'd dropped moments before from the floor and rotated it around in her hand in a stabbing motion. She swung the blade sideways in an effort to stab it clean through Lara's skull, yet oddly enough Lara had the dancer's reflexes beaten by a fraction of a second. She'd seen the blade coming and was fast enough to lean her head back to dodge the attack.

Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough to dodge the attack entirely. The blade from Marie's hunting knife rammed itself clean through Lara's skull nearly half an inch in front of her temple. She screamed a high pitch scream of pure agony and pain that people were never meant to feel as Marie held the knife in for a moment. Twisting, pulling, trying to wrench it free, she found it stuck within the bone of her eye sockets as all sorts of unmentionable fluids rolled free down her cheeks.

Looking back past the screaming girl, Marie could see the bloodied and bullet-riddled Lori getting her bearings as she regained her balance in the doorway. Looking to a weapons cache placed at the door's base, Lori picked up the butcher's knife that Marie had acquired from Jacob's corpse. Slightly dismayed, Marie placed one foot in Lara's stomach as she kicked off from her belly and pulled the knife free. Whatever existed of Lara's eyes became a brownish red jelly of cartilage, gore and blood as Marie ripped the knife away, cutting her unbelievably high pitched scream short as she bobbled around on her feet. All things considered, Lara was stunningly silent as she cradled the bloodied mess that used to be her eyes, merely babbling incoherently and whimpering.

Holding her knife back in a slashing motion, Marie quickly approached Lori. Despite having been shot twice (and the fact that the shot to her belly would have been fatal even in an operating room), Lori bounded over with her knife quickly and swung out fiercely. Marie felt pain shoot through her wrist as a thin line of blood drew itself diagonally across her unbelievably porcelain skin._ You bitch, you DEFORMED me!_

Reaching to the large piece of white fabric draped across one of the aged computer arrays, Marie grabbed the ropes from the half parachute she had acquired during the supply drop. Spinning it around so that it would billow outwards, Marie deftly wrapped the massive sheet around Lori in an effort to disorient the girl. It worked.

Lori stumbled around almost as blindly as Lara as the white sheet tied itself around her tighter every time she turned around. She was losing blood quickly, the gunshot wounds already staining the white fabric red every time she'd move. An impact from the left, another from the right and even more blood. Pain shot through every inch of her body, but already it was beginning to leave her. Everything blurred. More impacts, chest, thighs, stomach, arms, back. The white in front of her face became bright crimson as she spat blood all over.

Struggling to free herself as she stumbled around blindly, Lori pulled the parachute from her face enough to see the final attack. Marie was running her way with a look that probably reflected pure glee to the young dancer (yet would look like generic apathy to anyone else), and in her hands she held Lori's ax. This is it.

Marie swung the ax hard, landing its heavy blade square in Lori's chest. The sheer force of the attack sent the girl falling back through the door into the stairwell and over the metal banister. She fell, rolling around in the sheet as blood gushed from the dozens of stab and gunshot wounds that dotted her body. As the parachute drew to its end, the lashings that held it to the crate earlier caught on the banister and drew Lori's corpse to a stop. Her corpse hung in midair like some perverse piece of modern art, rotating gently with what momentum it still carried.

Back inside the control room, Marie found herself surprisingly tired all things considered. It was the first real fight she had had since she encountered Gervase nearly two days before. Sure, there was Damien, but he didn't count nor would she consider his attack an actual fight. Cracking a strain out of her neck, Marie watched as Lara still stumbled about blindly, holding the gaping mess that once was her face. Far too tired to do anything real intense, Marie grabbed Lara by the shoulders of her shirt, pulling her over to the gaping holes that used to be windows.

"Oh God, I'm sorry I'm sorry," Lara babbled as she held her ruined face, "I'm sorry I'm sorry."

Lara hardly protested her situation as Marie forced her around the room, instead just weakly doing her best to dig her feet into the floor. She failed.

Grabbing a belt loop from Lara's pants while still holding her shirt with the other hand, Marie lifted Lara up bodily from the floor and threw her through the gaping window. She could hear a scream that lasted for maybe three seconds followed by a dull thud as Lara had become as dead as her partner.

Feeling a temporary moment of dread that registered as nothing more than a slight tic on her face, Marie grabbed her sniper's rifle and looked back to the carcass of that ancient plane she'd been watching for so long...

* * *

The Demon watched with certain amusement as Lara was flung screaming end over end from the air traffic control tower. She landed maybe ten feet from the base, and never one to give up a golden opportunity it ran back over to her body. _Must get it back, must get to work with it, must make a solid effort... Success!_

Stooping over her incredibly bloody body, The Demon reached to her belt and pulled free the screwdriver she'd taken from it two hours prior and placed it back within it's own belt.

Looking back to the tower with a wry grin, The Demon winked to the girl up above.

"Thanks love."

Hearing the familiar sound of her high-powered rifle, The Demon bounded off into the forest to continue its mission anew. _Must pity the individuals of her wrath, but that's neither here nor there._

* * *

"Jesus Christ!" Paul yelled as the first shot ricocheted from the side of the landing gear. Pulling with all their might, Ashley and Lexie did their best to get his backpack free from the rusted metal that was the landing gear. Instead, it remained still. He couldn't even get out of the bindings without dislocating his shoulder. Each ducked again as another gunshot echoed out from the tower, and although the ducking proved useless (given her recent head injuries and the flare, Marie's eyesight wasn't as sharp as it had been), none managed to get hit. 

"Just get out of here guys! You can make it without me!" Paul shrieked, "Just go!"

"We're not going without you!" Lexie yelled back as another shot rung out. This one tore through her backpack and whirled her around, but with her determination she would not be turned away. _Come on, just a little more... little more... just a little more!_

Straining every muscle in her athlete's body, Lexie ripped the strap from Paul's backpack free. _He's safe, we're all free, let's just get the hell out of here and-_

Lexie didn't know why, but the next chain of events seemed to happen as if it weren't in her control. Pressing with all her might, she knocked Paul and Ashley back into the fuselage of the plane in time for them to dodge a shot that would almost certainly have hit Paul in the throat. Acting almost on instinct, Lexie ducked low and missed another shot. She didn't know why, nor could she have explained it had anyone asked, but it felt as if someone else was controlling her every move. She was safe, someone was watching over her, and someone-

The world turning completely on end shook Lexie from her revelry. Placing all of her balance on a slick piece of the slaughtered pig's intestines, Lexie's feet slipped from underneath her and landed her flat on her back. With the wind sucked out of her lungs by the impact, Lexie found herself musing for a moment. The clouds were just beginning to turn a mottled purple-orange color as the sun began to rise. It would have been beautiful under any other circumstances, but now it seemed almost exceptionally beautiful. She couldn't explain why, but there was something about it that was just so... perfect.

A cracking pop followed by searing pain brought her back into the real world. It felt as if someone had jammed a fiery knife into her leg, but Lexie knew enough to realize that she'd been shot in the thigh. Her pants leg soaked through with hot blood, and she screamed loudly from the shock of it.

"Lexie!" Ashley hollered.

Another shot missed her leg by a few inches, instead hitting up a small blast of mud. Twisting her legs, Lexie braced her back against the piece of landing gear that Paul had hidden behind moments before. As another shot streaked across the edge of the fuselage, Ashley and Paul ducked back inside the fuselage's remains.

"Fucking fuck!" Ashley yelled with pure frustration, "We're in the same damn place, we're in the same god damn place and this person is fucking still there! Someone went in there and couldn't kill them and we're all going to fucking die because this sick fuck just won't come down and fucking fight us!"

Going to the edge of the fuselage, Ashley yelled angrily to the tower, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM US YOU FUCKING PSYCHO? WHY DON'T YOU JUST COME AND FIGHT US LIKE A MAN YOU PUSSY? WHY DON'T YOU FIGHT US LIKE ALL THE REST. Everyone else around here, they've got the guts to just do this face to face, BUT YOU'VE JUST GOTTA TORTURE US FOR NO GOOD REASON YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH US?"

A definitive silence came in the wake of Ashley's tirade, broken only by Paul making a simple remark.

"At least we've still got each other," he said in a poor attempt at humor. Ashley didn't look amused.

"Don't start with me man," she said.

"I'm just... I don't know," Paul replied.

"Just, don't do it and..." Ashley trailed off. She could have really gone off on Paul with the pure rage and frustration that was coursing through her veins, but she really didn't have it in her. Paul had been forced in a crouching position for almost twenty hours by their sniper and kept mostly good spirits throughout. The last thing she had the heart for was wailing on him like someone who actually deserved it.

Pressing her hands against the pumping wound in her leg, Lexie groaned. It was bad, real bad, but nevertheless remained optimistic.

"You know guys," she muttered hopefully with a distinct smile, "I'm glad we could get out of here on a day with such a pretty sunrise.


	59. Hour 54: 14 Contestants Remaining

Hour 54

14 Contestants Remaining

It had all started in sophomore year, at least as far as he could remember. That was when she came into the picture. It would have made for a better story had they had some really spectacular and ironic way of meeting up and finding out that the other existed, but instead all he had to show for it was a stolen laundry basket and a lousy driver. Very romantic, eh?

* * *

Matt Hunter knew pain well. It wasn't necessarily something he liked, nor was it something he reveled in, but he knew it well and he accepted it as a part of life. Then again, given his chosen profession it was a factor that had to be acknowledged at the very least, and embraced if at all possible. Still, it didn't mean he had to like it... 

Hell, just the week before he could recall taking a nasty dive off a rail and into some asphalt. It looked easy at first, I mean, don't they all? Not that high of the ground, good angle, good paint on the rail so the ride wouldn't be rough. It was a long ride, maybe too long to keep on for too much time, but it looked possible and not being one to back down he'd tried it. Like many things in retrospect, Matt found out that it was a bad idea. Not but three feet down his slide he lost his balance, and in an effort for survival he chose to take his tumble down the stairs as opposed to the thirty foot vertical drop onto concrete that the other side of the rail offered. The roll wasn't bad and nothing broke, but he was cut up and battered pretty decently from the tumble. A couple gashes, a black eye, nothing really to boast about but at the same time it all hurt like hell.

Worst thing though, by far, wasn't the batterings, wasn't the scars, nah, they were all cool. Once they healed up they were badges of pride and honor and'd let him boast above a lot of the other wannabe skaters. No, the blood. That was the worst part. There were two things Matt really hated, vomit first and foremost, but lacking that, blood. Blood didn't scare him, nor did it disgust him, but it was, well, more of an inconvenience than anything else. Bright red, stains clothes, and if you don't tear them in a wreck, they get soaked through with the red stuff. After the tumble down the stairs he'd headed to the Laundromat to take care of his t-shirt. It was a familiar place and it had a busted vending machine that if it was hit just right it'd spit out a couple quarters, so automatically Matt was drawn to the place. He'd washed his t-shirt and sweatshirt with little difficulty, but as the situation had it, none of the dryers were working. Spotting an abandoned laundry basket, Matt looked back and forth. No one had a claim on it, no one would miss it, and so he had little compunction about carrying it off with his wet laundry. Just hoped no one would be sore about it...

* * *

That had been a week ago, and Matt found himself replaying the memory in his mind over and over. Something about it, he didn't know why, but something about it made him laugh. Truth be told, he could use a laugh too; everything was moving so fast in so many directions that he just couldn't help but be a bit freaked out. Thinking of all the happy moments would keep from all the scary ones. 

The first thing that got him down was the imminent beginning of sophomore year. Summer's end was two weeks away, and school would be starting again. He'd left freshman year as an average student with little hope of becoming anything but, and the prospect of getting more bad grades and flak from his parents was none too appealing. _Why couldn't summer last longer? They make it shorter every year, why not give it just another week to let it soak in a bit more? Ugh._

The second thing that occupied his thoughts despite his best efforts for it to be as far from his mind as possible was a simple name. No, not a simple name, in fact it was quite probably a very dangerous one. Rosaline. Her name was Rosaline, and she broke his heart.

Looking both ways as he intended to cross the street, Matt took a sip from his smoothie. _No one coming, no one going. Safe. Gotta be safe at night like this._ Kicking off the curb, he gained enough momentum to roll a good half-way into the street before requiring another to get to the opposite curb. Applying pressure to the back of his board, he was able to make a quick and easy jump onto the sidewalk and unfortunately back into his own thoughts.

Her name was Rosaline, and amazing was the only word that he could come up with to describe her. Well, perfect, gorgeous, smart, funny, amazing, they all seemed to fit her, yet no matter how he said them and how many times they were said, they fell on deaf ears. Sure, most people wouldn't have called her beautiful, they had different standards than Matt. Yeah, she was two years older than him, she had a bunch of piercings, more tattoos than anyone her age should have had and beautiful blonde hair that had been damaged with a bad fire truck red dye job, but for Matt she had all the right qualities. Strong, self reliant, a mouth that knew when best to be foul, good taste in music and she even knew how to play a guitar. Everything was right about her... Rosaline, damn.

Pulling the cell phone from his pocket as he rolled down the street, Matt quickly dialed her number. Ring. Ring. Ring. Answering machine, great, that voice, those words he'd heard a million times just before that beep.

"Hey, it's Ros, you know what to do when it beeps, later," the machine continued.

"It's me again," Matt said, "sorry if I'm being irritating but I just had to get one more call through, I guess I'm persistent, but, yeah. I've just wanted to talk to you, sort things out, I, I just want to know where I stand, where we stand. I just want to know what's going on. I keep trying to call you, I, I keep trying to see you, but nothing happens and I don't know what I'm doing. Can you just tell me if I should even try calling anymore? I really, just, I don't know. I can't shut off how I feel about you, but, what is it? Can you just call me back? Please? Whenever you get the time, please call me back. You know my number, but, well, if you don't, or forgot, 555-2139. Please call back."

He hung up feeling like a fool, stuffing the phone in his pocket as he continued to skate the darkened streets. _Jesus, you only went out twice, what'd you expect? She's older, she's in a band, you're just a wannabe skater dude and you've got nothing to offer, what'd you expect to happen? Christ almighty, you're a fool, you're a fool who falls too quickly and one of these days it's-_

The squeal of tires brought him out of his revelry, but not nearly long enough for him to comprehend what it was. He'd started to cross the street, but not paying attention took it's toll as the car (an old Volkswagen bug if he could remember correctly) shot through the crosswalk and slammed straight into Matt. The skater rolled over the top of the car, slamming hard into the pavement as he rolled for maybe thirty feet.

"FUCK!" the boy cried out in agonizing pain, "JESUS CHRIST! SOMEBODY!"

He moved around experimentally. No paralysis, toes, arms, all worked, all had feeling. They all hurt like hell, but hurting like hell he'd have taken over no feeling anyday. Stretching his muscles out as he rolled onto his back, Matt cried out in pain once more. _Where is everybody? Shouldn't someone have heard this? I could be dying in the street and no one would do anything._

Trying to sit up once again, Matt could only feel as unbelievable agony shot through his system. _Call for help, gotta, just gotta call for help. Cell phone, just grab it, press the buttons and call. That's redial, not 911, crap._

The phone rang twice before that familiar female voice came up again on the other side, but this time it was no answering machine.

"I told you before to stop calling me!" Rosaline angrily said on the other side, "You've left me fifty messages in the last three days, this is god damn creepy! Leave me alone before I call the cops, it's over Matt, we only went out twice and it wasn't that fun! Just live with it and accept it and move on!"

Click. Tears brimming at the corners of his eyes, Matt threw the cellular phone to the curb in frustration, wishing just two seconds too late that he hadn't done so. The small device shattered into a million pieces, as did his chance for calling for help anytime soon.

"Well, that was well thought out," he mused to himself as he achingly got into a sitting position. Turning his head to the other side, Matt saw what for a moment appeared to be a glowing angel. Instead it was the Laundromat sign, but at the moment he was willing to accept whatever savior available.

* * *

Wild Horses, that was the song's name, right? Rolling Stones, helluva band and one of Matt's personal favorites if there ever was one. Whatever it was, it was playing on one of those crackly loudspeakers in the corner and gave him moment for focus. With skateboard over his shoulder and more skin left on the road than he knew, Matt hobbled into the nearly abandoned Laundromat. It was a miracle that he'd lived through the wreck, and an even greater one that the place was still open. 

Pay phone. Perfect. Reaching into his pocket, Matt groaned softly. No money. Not perfect. Lose it? Drop it when you got hit? Who the hell knows, lucky, lucky, lucky to be standing right now. _Anyone around, get some change, maybe convince someone you're not some crazed hobo lookin like you're lookin and it'll, it'll..._

As his eyes drifted across the room, Matt saw the Laundromat's only other occupant, and for a moment all time stopped. There she was, dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair cut short and bobbing just above her neck. Her body was extremely athletic, only accentuated by the black tank top and almost impossibly short cutoffs she wore (no doubt because of the stifling heat, but the mere sight of her was more than enough to take Matt's breath away). Top that off by her rather ornate belly button ring, the tattoo at the small of her back and the roller skates she wore that seemed to defy gravity, and Matt was thoroughly stunned.

Wow.

For one reason or another she seemed rather engrossed with a magic marker and what looked like a box in her hands, so aside from a fleeting glimpse he got of her face, she did not seem to notice his presence. Limping the best he could in her direction, Matt raised a hand in an effort to get her attention.

"Excuse me?" he said with a crackling voice.

"Just a second," the girl responded as she furiously went back to work on the box she held. Upon closer examination, he could see that she had written 'PROPERTY OF THE HAWK FAMILY, HANDS OFF!' seemingly dozens of times across its surface.

"Asshole took the last one and my mom got pissed," the girl said as she intently wrote on the basket's surface, "and I am NOT letting that happen again."

"Look," he said as he just reached up to touch her shoulder in an effort to get her attention, "I just need a quarter for the-"

The girl's lightning fast reflexes caught him off guard as she quickly spun around and locked her hands around his wrist. Twisting with enough force to pull Matt off balance, she flipped him over and slammed the boy to the ground with enough force to dislocate the lone shoulder that had not been knocked out of place in the prior accident.

"FUCK!" he yelled from the ground as he writhed about in pain.

"Oh my God!" the girl responded with genuine concern as she knelt by his side, "I'm so sorry! What happened to you?"

"I think I got run down by a car," he sputtered, "then I was gonna ask you for a quarter so I could call 911 and get an ambulance, and now I'm on the floor."

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"No, I'm actually feeling rather nice right now," he said sarcastically, "could I have a quarter so I can call an ambulance please?"

"You know you don't need money to call 911 on a pay phone?"

"What?" Matt asked.

"Yeah, it's free," the girl responded.

"Then can you give them a call, I'm frickin bleedin here!" he yelled quickly.

"Oh, yeah," the girl responded a bit befuddled, "right."

The beauty disappeared around the corner for a long moment, talking in a voice where Matt could not make out the words yet could hear the whole thing. _Come on girl, you're beautiful, please be smart and please get me out of this thing fast. Please, I don't want to die here on this fucking floor because I was thinking with the wrong brain at the wrong time._

"Did you get a look at the car that hit you?" the girl asked as she came back from the phone.

"What?" Matt asked.

"It'd probably be good if you knew what the car looks like," the girl responded as she sat down next to Matt, "I'm guessing they're wanted for hit and run."

"Sorry, I didn't," he continued incredulously, "if I saw it coming I wouldn't be here right now."

"No?" the girl laughed, "Looking at your stealthy approach a few minutes ago I'd hardly give you the credit for cat-like reflexes."

"I'm lying here dying and you're giving me shit for my reflexes?" Matt asked a bit woefully.

"Would you rather I be freaking out at the fact that I was seemingly assaulted by a guy who quite clearly looks like a member of the living dead, standing around screaming while you writhe on the floor in pain much like you're doing right now."

"Good point," he replied, looking up at her from the floor, "Matt Hunter. I'd shake your hand but I can't lift it."

"It's OK, I'd tell you not to anyway," the girl replied with a smile, "Lexie Hawk."

"Pleasure," he said, "thanks for calling it in."

"Hey, no problem, not like I got a whole lot better to do at the moment," she said sarcastically, "I mean, I could be wrapped around the family laundry, but hey, help a guy out ya know?"

"Yeah, I do," he mused as he coughed.

"You want me to help you sit up?" Lexie asked, "Maybe hurt less if you hurt your shoulder like it looks."

"Nah, I'm good down here," Matt replied, "collecting my thoughts."

"I see," she responded as the room fell silent for the moment, "Nice board."

"Yeah?" he replied with genuine interest.

"Yeah," Lexie added, "I haven't ridden a good one in a while."

"Why not?" Matt asked as he craned his neck painfully.

"Tried a fifty-fifty backslide on a bench that wasn't bolted down that good," she continued, showing off her arm and pointing to her various joints, "my feet lost the board and I landed in a way that broke my arm in four places. Humerus, Radius, two fractures in the ulna and knocked my shoulder out of place."

"Ouch," Matt replied as he knew the pain well. God only knew how many times he'd knocked a shoulder out of place (well, not counting both of his shoulders given the accident and her attack.)

"So, yeah, mom wouldn't let me get another board, but these are still good," Lexie said as she intimated her roller skates, "not quite the same thing, but still a lot of fun."

Matt sighed as he listened to her speak. For all he cared, she could've been reading the phone book and it would've sounded like sweet music. The only thing he didn't care for was the fact the ambulance's siren came in too soon and would have to break up the moment.

"Sounds like your ride," she said.

"Sounds like it," he replied, "you go to Braiwood High?"

"Haven't before, but I'm transferring over this year," she said, further explaining, "was going to San Delgado but since dad left we can't afford it anymore."

"Understand that one," Matt replied, "I think I'm gonna pass out here for a bit, but don't let that stop you from your laundry adventures I guess. I'll see you around."

"All right," she replied, "we'll do that."

Closing his eyes from the pain, Matt sighed. He'd known the girl for a matter of minutes, and quite probably it was the concussion or blood loss talking, but already Lexie had made Rosaline's name sound like a foreign language. Already Matt knew he was in love. He'd passed out on the floor, but he was most definitely in love.

* * *

"You all right?" the boy asked, effectively shaking Boy # 15, Matt Hunter, from the wonderful dream world he had retreated into. True, being run down by that car was the most painful thing he'd ever known and had laid him out in the hospital longer than any other wreck, but, well, he'd have done it ten times over if it meant falling for Lexie all over again. 

"Just fine, just fine, stronger than ever but still zoning," Matt quickly shot back from his spot on the floor. It was odd looking up to Boy # 2, Doug Rodgers, given that he was shorter than most everyone else, but he didn't really have the energy to stand nor the reason to give a damn.

"We're all gathering in the dining hall to listen to the announcement, see what's going to happen with the bunch over at the airfield."

"What's with the airfield again?" Matt asked in a bit of a daze. Truth be told he knew the answer, but a combination of blood loss and lack of sleep had him a bit confused.

"Carter wants to talk over his plan on making a run on it to pick up Paul and the rest," Doug said, "we're gonna talk it over after the announcement to see if it's worthwhile."

"If it's worthwhile?" Matt questioned again, curious to Doug's definition of life's worth.

"To see if it won't be a waste of time I mean," Doug continued, "If they're already dead there's no sense in running out there looking for them. So, you going to join us or what?" Doug asked.

With the mention of the airfield plan, Matt hardly hesitated as he pulled himself to his feet, "No problem. I'm there."

* * *

As they had been waiting for after past twelve hours of death and combat, the fourteen remaining contestants in the Battle Royale listened as the aged speakers cracked to life once more. 

"Hey all you kids out there in radio land, I'm back, and I'm badder than ever," JJ practically cackled over the loudspeakers with childlike glee, "Sorry if I'm a little groggy, these cots they have in here are a bitch to work with. I don't think I got even ten hours of sleep, but, what can you do? I should've brought my own pillow."

The distinct, albeit disgustingly familiar, sound of JJ taking a swig from his bottle of booze could be heard through the speakers as he continued with his speech, "but none of you are really interested in my problems anyway, and frankly none of our viewers really give a damn about me, you guys are the real stars here. Pity... Anyhow, it's been twelve hours and you've all been busy little monkeys, here's a list of your friends in the order that they died. First to go was Girl # 23, Lindsay Hill, shot clean through the throat by our ballet champion Marie Cooper. Following her previous act just seconds later, Marie made the second kill of this last round by shooting none other than all star football player Rudy Daniels, Boy # 18, in the spine. I guess that one upset all those people who believe you should always bet on black."

He took a moment to laugh at his own humor before continuing on abruptly, "At any rate, next to go was Boy # 20, Gus O'Ryan, taken out execution style by none other than one of his own buddies, our geeky friend Doug Rodgers. Goes to show you that try as you might to do something better in this game, it all comes down to lack of trust in the end. Anyhow, after that you guys got pretty dull and didn't kill for a while, but thank God for Miss Cooper for evening out the score by adding the last two bodies to the list. Girl # 1, Lori Nicotero was the first to go after being blasted, shot and stabbed God only knows how many times and having an ax rammed into her chest, followed moments later by accomplice Girl # 24, Lara Drake, who had her eyes removed like an Italian zombie movie before being chucked from the top of a building."

Another sip followed by a low, rumbling belch into the microphone led to JJ's final remarks as he laughed softly, "I think it goes without saying that the fans voted unanimously for Marie to receive this round's weapon reward. You may pick it up at the radio tower at your own leisure, though might I say that you should try for it sooner rather than later. Time's getting tight kiddies, you might want to get a move on while you still can. With that I'll leave you with one of my personal favorites...

An audible pop could be heard as he accidentally pushed his microphone against the wall, but to most it wouldn't have mattered. The record found it's groove and began to play a haunting, reverberating synthesizer track at a regular interval, eventually swelling into something more, something stronger than just the synthesizer could muster. In moments, Roger Daltry's voice rang through the noise with one of The Who's greatest hits.

"_Out here in the fields,_

_I fight for my meals,_

_I get my back into my living,_

_I don't need to fight,_

_To prove I'm right,_

_I don't need to be forgiven!_

_Don't cry,_

_Don't raise your eye,_

_It's only teenage wasteland..._

_Sally, take my hand_

_Travel south 'cross land_

_Put out the fire_

_Don't look past my shoulder_

_The exodus is here_

_The happy ones are near_

_Let's get together_

_Before we get much older..."_

* * *

"This is stupid," Doug said simply. He had no idea of how he could make himself any clearer, but people just weren't listening. Well, at least not the people that mattered; Carter, Bo and Katherine were preparing gear for a trek, while everyone else just sat by and watched silently. Doug was the only one willing to put up a protest given the moment. 

"I know Ashley's your friend," he continued, "and we all love Paul and Lexie, but going after them now is suicide."

"We've already had this argument," Boy # 1, Carter James, said simply as he checked the ammunition for the rifle Matt had handed him, "and it's going to end up the same way. We voted on it already, and majority says we go out to help them."

"Yeah, but I can keep calling for a recount," Doug said, "or at least for you to come to your senses."

"You're not getting either," Carter replied as he pulled the backpack onto his shoulder, "I'll be fast, I promise. Screw being seen, I can stick to the main roads and just make it up there really fast and back."

"It's not what's along the way that matters, it's what you'll find when you get there," Doug said, "the map said Marie was not too far from the rest of our team, at least before we lost the signal, but I'm pretty sure they're still there, and I'm also pretty sure that she's got them trapped somehow. This girl's killed five people so far, and she can go through you guys like a hot knife through butter."

"Yeah, well, she probably got those people from sheer surprise," Carter replied with a bit of a smile, "and thanks to you we know what we're going in on. If she tries to attack us, we give her a war."

"Damn right about that one mate," Bo said with a bit of a laugh. Next to Carter, Bo was perhaps the most enthusiastic about making the trek to the airfield. When it came down to voting on whether or not to attempt a rescue, Carter, Michael and Matt were all immediate 'yes' votes, while Jenny, Doug and Katherine were quick 'no' votes. Bo waffled on his decision for some time, but eventually logic won out. Without Ashley, Paul or Lexie's strength, skill or weapons, he was the strongest one around, and having enough experience knowing the power of a team, he voted the way that would make them the strongest.

"We go in, we rescue your mates, we show no mercy if we have to, we get out, we kick some ass, we're gonna rock this," Bo said with a genuine smile as he tied the orange strap of fabric tighter around his forehead. Carter smiled with the boy's enthusiasm, hoping enough of it would rub off to allow them to pull this off as quickly as need be. Looking over to Katherine, whose usually serene face was now marred by a look of almost pure hostility, Carter spoke up softly.

"You still want to do this?" he asked.

"Stop asking me that," she replied curtly, "but the answer is yes."

Carter considered pressing further, but his better judgment told him not to. Girl # 4, Katherine Farraday, to say the very least wasn't too fond of the rescue mission idea. It's not that she wanted to let Ashley, Paul and Lexie die, hardly, if she could have done anything to save them, she would have. However, her problem was doing it at the expense of even more lives, particularly this late into the game, and particularly if Carter were the one involved. When he persisted and won the vote, Katherine insisted on going with him despite his protestations. _Christ, been together for less than a day and already we've had our first fight, this is a start of a beautiful relationship, ain't it?_

Looking off to the room's edge, Carter caught Matt entering from the bathroom. The boy pulled on the gray hooded sweatshirt he'd kept stowed away for the greater portion of the game, and with his injuries covered up he looked almost human. Sure, there was a bit of a swagger to his step that indicated that not all was well, and his face was still too pale to be healthy, but overall he was beginning to look better than he had thus far. Rocking the Walther pistol that Eliza had given him two days before in his hand, Matt checked the magazine and slammed it back into place.

"Going somewhere?" Carter asked.

"Coming with you," he said with a cough as he wobbled a bit on his feet. Quickly gathering his composure, he stood strong and looked to Carter intently.

"Can't," Carter replied, "we've gone over this-"

"We've gone over shit," Matt said, "I know this island better than any of you guys could ever hope to, I've spent all my time wandering while you've been in here, I can help you."

"Yes you can," Carter replied calmly, noting that all eyes in the room had focused on Matt since he began to speak up, "but you're also weakened from your injuries. Hell, I stitched you up myself when you could barely walk."

"I'm better now," Matt said intently, "and frankly, you guys could use me."

"I know why you want to go," Carter replied with a bit less calm, "and it just won't work like that. We need someone strong to stay with the group here."

"Bullshit," Matt said, waving his pistol around intently and getting everyone to back off, "You're out here looking for a friend and you can't have me looking for a crush? How messed up is that?"

"No more messed up than me letting a guy who shouldn't even be walking let alone fighting out in harm's way," Carter replied with a nod, "You're weaker than you usually are and wouldn't be good in the field, but if things go sour you're strong enough to help out here. I don't want this to go bad..."

Hearing a click behind him, Matt turned his head enough to see Girl # 11, Jenny Reese, standing behind him with her arms held high and the tranquilizer pistol acquired from Homer's body in her hands. It didn't take much for Matt to realize what was going down. Carter knew this was going to be a problem, he knew Matt would raise a ruckus and he'd hired a goon just to make sure things would work out like this. _Mother fuck._

"Not cool," Matt said simply as his eyes stared daggers into Carter, "so not cool."

"We've come this far," Carter said as he tried to level with his friend, "we can't afford to lose anyone else... I just don't want this to go bad man."

"Go bad?" Matt asked with a slight laugh, "We're in a fucking Battle Royale and you're afraid of this thing going bad?"

Acting with surprising agility, Matt twisted his body around ninety degrees and wrenched the tranquilizer pistol from Jenny's hands. Quickly rotating the weapon around in his hand into a firing position he pointed it to Jenny, while raising his other hand with the Walther so that it was pointed at Carter.

"Jesus Christ!" Michael yelled as he ducked away from the fray, while Jenny simply let loose with a scream. Katherine and Doug were quick to draw their respective guns, while Bo just stood by dumbstruck.

"Don't do it man!" Doug yelled as the gun in his hands wavered. _Not again, we can't afford this, not again!_

"Matt, you know I like you but I am not afraid of shooting you in the head if you do not DROP THE FUCKING GUN!" Katherine screamed with genuine fear as she aimed the gun to Matt's face. The skater hardly wavered, long since having lost his fear of a gun aimed at him. He looked back to Carter, trying his best to speak without losing what little composure he still possessed.

"I don't want your goons, I just want to go out and tell her..." he said, "I just have to say what I have to say and that will be that. I will go with you if I can, but I'll go without if I have to and say to hell with your revolution."

"Just, put the gun down, please," Carter said with a lot more nervous energy than he was willing to let on, "please, enough people have died here so far, please don't add to the list."

"I'll do what I have to," Matt said resignedly as he looked from one target to the next. Both Katherine and Doug set the hammers on their revolvers into their effective firing positions, and Matt heard them with certain trepidation._ This is it, please God, don't let this be it._

"We need someone strong to stay behind," Boy # 11, Bo Adrian, interjected, "if that's what this is all about I'll stay behind."

All eyes turned to Bo as the foreign exchange student did his best to speak with conviction.

"I'm stronger than any three of you combined, it'd be stupid for me to not be here," he continued, "if you guys all get killed on the way to the airfield, everyone back at the base is going to be left to their own to pull off this escape. Doug, Jenny, Michael, couldn't pull it off even if they all had Uzi's, no offense guys. I can do it. I'm strong, I'll stay behind, Matt, mate, you can take my spot with the rescue team."

Another lingering moment of silence fell over the room as the idea was considered by each, but again it was Carter to break the silence, "I've no problem with it if it's all right with Bo. Katherine, it all right with you?"

The girl kept her gun raised and aimed towards Matt's face, but with a look of resignation she replied, "Yes, I'm fine with it."

Looking back and forth between the various members of SABRE, Matt nodded silently. Dropping his arms, he tossed the tranquilizer dart pistol back to Jenny and quickly put the pistol in the kangaroo pouch of his sweatshirt.

"Cool stuff," Matt said simply.

* * *

It took another ten minutes to get everything ready for their imminent departure, but within due time the SABRE rescue team was ready and willing for their departure. With map hanging around his neck, backpack slung over his better shoulder and pistol in hand, Matt led the way out of the mess hall. Katherine was shortly behind, making sure to keep her distance from Matt yet at the same time keep close enough not to lose him once they hit the jungle. Carter was the last to leave, shoring up the last details of the escape plan with Doug as he finished loading Dora's rifle. 

"Back by noon or we're making the assault on our own," Doug said, "with or without you."

"That's what I keep saying," Carter said, "just keep it in my head so I can't forget, back by noon, back by noon, it gets pretty catchy if you say it enough."

Completely ignoring Carter's sarcasm, Doug continued, "Just do it so we don't have to do this on our own."

"Think the four of you can pull it off?" Carter asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Doug said, "we know this jungle better than they can, we've got the proper choke spot to pull this off, and, well, this game is designed to make us into savages and let's say that they succeeded. I'm willing to tear each of them apart one at a time, with my bare hands if I have to, but if not..."

Reaching to the ground by the door, Doug pulled a rusted shovel that they had scavenged into his hands, "...I'll do it with this."

Setting the weapon back down, Doug continued quickly, "If you don't make it back by the noon announcement, don't come back to the mess hall. We'll grab the boat and make our way to the harbor."

"How will we know if you're there?" Carter asked.

"Squelch button on Michael's megaphone," Doug said, "it's loud and it's risky, but we'll hit it once and wait five minutes. If you're not on the boat within five minutes of the squelch, you're on your own."

"Fair enough," was the best Carter could muster, "fair enough."

"Then I guess I'm supposed to wish you good luck," Doug said, "I want to reiterate that this is a bad idea, but you guys... just be safe."

"Hey, now that I'm gone, you're in charge," Carter said as he tried to remain optimistic, "not like that was any different from when I was here, but, well... if things turn south, I know you can do this."

Doug smiled genuinely as he looked up to Carter, "Thank you... that means a l-"

"Come on!" Matt said as he hobbled outside next to Katherine, "Time's running down and we gotta do this now!"

Shouldering his backpack into a more comfortable position, Carter looked to SABRE's new leader. Doug was the youngest person in the Battle Royale, but he had a good head on his shoulder and more than enough leadership abilities to lead them through should things turn south. That was more than enough to cause Carter to smile and have enough faith in their plan. Everything was going to work out just fine.

"I'll be safe," Carter finally replied to Doug's earlier remark, "We'll all be safe, and in twenty-four hours time I'll treat you to a daiquiri. Guaranteed."

Turning away from the SABRE base, Carter jogged through the ankle high grass and weeds to join Katherine and Matt as they began their rescue mission. Doug wanted to say something final and profound as he watched the three disappear into the jungle, but didn't have the time to figure out what would be the right thing to say. Carter was one of the main brains behind the SABRE operation, but what he was doing here was... stupid. Then again, Carter had a way of making things happen, so Doug had some faith in the operation working out.

Nevertheless, Doug was left standing in the doorframe, silently watching as the three began to run away. Had he known it'd be the last time he'd see any of them alive, he probably would've made the extra effort to speak out.


	60. Hour 55: 14 Contestants Remaining

Hour 55

14 Contestants Remaining

The girl wore red. True, wearing a dress, let alone a gown, wasn't really her style, but if one were to set eyes upon her as she stood on that balcony overlooking Los Angeles at night, they wouldn't have been able to tell. She moved around gracefully in a pair of short heels, dancing and moving to the music perfectly. She moved with a distinct grace, alighting on one foot and spinning around slightly, only to ground herself and twirl back on both feet as the curls of her mop of jet black hair rolled around her shoulders. Stopping for a moment in her steps, she actually took time to listen to the words and oddly found herself smiling.

"_Funny how I blind myself, I never knew if I was sometimes played upon; Afraid to lose, I'd tell myself what good you do..."_

Moving back beat with the music, the girl found her smile to disappear slightly. With a wide and genuine smile was frequent and well known, it was a rarity to see her without it. Still, with pangs of loneliness hitting her, she had to falter, if just in the moment. _For a band with a name like Talk Talk, they make a lot of sense. Maybe too much, just... don't let it get to you. You couldn't say whether he came or not, it's not your fault, just... dance. Dance like you mean it._

With the synthesized 80's song soon winding down, the girl fell down to the railing as she tried to catch her breath. With the sounds of the city in front of her and those of the prom behind her, it was hard to hear much else, and yet... there it was. Zippo. Nothing else sounded like it. With a gust of wind the acrid smell of cigarette smoke drifted her way, but by then she already knew who it was. The smile returned.

"You know," the man said behind her, "I can say quite positively I've never seen you look any more beautiful than you do right now."

"You do now?" she asked.

"Yes, and I say this with certainty," he continued as he took another puff from the cigarette, "though you've always looked undeniably beautiful, tonight I'd say you look particularly striking."

"Beautiful the best I can manage?" she said with a slight laugh, still looking out over the city.

"No, far from it," he replied, "Beautiful is just the tip of the iceberg. Stunning, gorgeous, amazing, you could swing any and all of them right now. Dare I say... I would even call you desirable."

"How do you do it?" she mused, looking to the stars from the city.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Manage to say the things that always get to me the most," she replied, "Manage to surprise me... to make me feel like the most special girl in the whole wide world."

"It's a gift I guess," the man replied, inhaling from his cigarette once more before tossing it to the ground and crushing it with his foot.

"I'm glad you came," Lexie said as she turned around and faced the man. Stepping into the light from the shade, Quentin Marx stepped out in an impeccable white 40's tuxedo that would have put Bogart to shame, hair slicked back with the chain of a watch hanging from his front jacket pocket. Rushing over, Lexie jumped up into his arms and kissed the man, not minding in the slightest that he tasted of bad cigarettes and was almost one foot taller.

"I thought, I, I thought you couldn't come," Lexie blurted out, trying her best to balance on her toes to meet his mouth, "I mean, I, I got you the ticket, but I didn't think you'd be able to make it."

"I moved some of my shifts around," he replied, "Get to start half an hour later tonight, so I'm not here for long, but I can make an appearance. Besides... I owe you a dance."

Looking up to the love of her life, Lexie could only marvel at how improbable it all seemed. By all rights... they shouldn't be. She should have found herself with someone from high school, making some superficial relationship as they did the usual teenage angst crap and wound up breaking up shortly after graduation. Quentin though... he was something different. By far he was something different. On a whim on her 18th birthday, she'd browsed through some random internet dating site and jokingly replied to a few of the profiles from the Braiwood area. Quentin was the only one to reply, and in keeping with the correspondence, Lexie found that she actually liked the boy. Well, boy was probably the wrong word. Quentin was 24, working on his internship at Braiwood Community Hospital and had a life as separate from Lexie's as was humanly possible, and yet... yet she found herself unbelievably intrigued by the man. He was completely different from anything she'd ever known, unbelievably intelligent (made it into MENSA on his third try), charismatic, and funny to boot. The fact that their casual correspondence turned into an actual relationship wasn't nearly as surprising as the fact that Lexie found herself in love with him. It was, for lack of a better word, storybook.

"Love what you did with your hair," he noted, taking her out of her revelry for the moment.

"Thanks," Lexie replied with a laugh, "I didn't think spikes would work all that well for prom, so Sky helped me pick out a wig. She even did her hair up to match, it's funny."

"I bet it is," Quentin said as he flashed that warm smile. He looked down to his girlfriend, seeing a shade of sadness that caused him to speak up.

"What's the matter?" he asked kindly.

"I just..." Lexie trailed off, "I just wish, wish we didn't have to be like this. I hate keeping this a secret."

"I know, me too," Quentin replied, "but it's for the best really. Like you said, your mom would kill us both if she found out before you got out of the house."

"Yeah," Lexie replied solemnly, "I guess. I just... I just don't like it."

She sighed, leaning her head up against his chest as she listened to the party going on not but a flight of stairs away. She didn't like to admit it, but it was true. This could have, no, would have had a storybook ending if she weren't so damned afraid of her mother. Of all the people in the world, only three of them had opinions that Lexie was mildly interested in. One was Quentin, another Sky (her one and only true confidante), and the third her mother. With a father out of the picture for far too long, her mother was the only one to be around the Hawk twins for their entire life, and almost everything revolved around her. There was no fear, no dictator, it's just... Lexie couldn't afford not to have her mother's approval. She couldn't bear disappointing her, and did the best she could to live up to all expectations. Unfortunately, meeting an amazing person over the internet wasn't exactly one of those expectations, and Lexie had been forced to keep it in private.

"I have to say you're looking pretty fine tonight too," Lexie responded through a tear as she tried to change the subject, "this doesn't look like your normal scrubs."

"I just threw this together, you know, be prepared," he continued as he caught her cue, "Always have something ready for a just in case. I haven't been to a prom or formal in years, but you just never know when you're going to need one of these."

"You know you talk too much sometimes?" Lexie asked.

"Yes, yes I do," he continued with a bit of a giggle, "and you absolutely adore it."

"You're damn right," Lexie fired back, "Now shut up and kiss me."

Wrapping her arms around the man she loved, Lexie hoped it would remain like that forever. Sure, he would have to leave soon and would be back to work, but for the moment, it was perfect. This was what prom night was supposed to be about, not sex, not a party, not spending hundreds of dollars on a dress just to impress someone, it was just... that one perfect moment. That one moment that would define high school and leave a lasting memory that would make all the bad times worthwhile. Embracing Quentin on that balcony, Lexie knew that it was her moment, and she was never going to give it up. _Not now, not ever._

* * *

For some strange reason the world faded ever so slightly, transforming memory into dream, and reality into something altogether separate. Lexie's arms fell to her sides as the warm body she embraced just seconds prior disappeared entirely into nothingness. _Quentin, wait, don't go! Please, don't go, I've lost it all already, please, don't you leave too! Please!_

She turned around, looking frantically and finding a lone figure standing by the doorway leading back into the prom's main hall. Their silhouette was hidden in darkness, but the orange glow of a cigarette gave the position away easily. It wasn't him though, no, too short, a bit more stout, and with a crown of curly blonde hair that fell around their shoulders.

"You look a bit confused," the girl in the shadows said as she exhaled a cloud of smoke. In the dim light coming from the door, the smoke formed patterns that almost seemed like dancing, though probably nothing like the dancing inside.

"I..." Lexie uttered, "what happened?"

"You're missing out on the dance," Anna said as she came from the shadows. Lexie found it hard to take her eyes from the class president. Not too long ago the blonde leader had a hard edge to her and was a definitive bitch, but here... here she seemed softer, kinder. If anything, she seemed to have a warm, happy smile.

"I am?" Lexie asked again.

"Yeah, you are," Anna said, motioning with her cigarette to the hallway, "come on, get in before the last dance."

Seeing Lexie take a moment's hesitation before going into the hall, Anna added, "They're in there you know."

Stepping towards the hall with renewed vigor, Lexie felt almost lighter than air, taking a wide stride that became a jog. Looking back, she waved to Anna.

"Thanks," Lexie said.

"No problem, just watch your step!" Anna mentioned warmly.

Not heeding Anna's advice in the slightest, Lexie stepped on the edge of her gown as she descended the steps into the main ballroom and began to fall. Her descent was abruptly halted as a powerful pair of arms reached out and put her back onto her feet. Looking up, Lexie's eyes met the kind face of Francisco dressed to the nines in his tux as he nursed a glass of Coke.

"Over there," he said, motioning out further onto the dance floor. Following his direction, Lexie made her way towards the crowd. _Peter, Lisa, Tamyra, Lindsay, Lara, Nick, Eliza, they're all here... all here! If they're all here then... I'm..._

As the crowd eyed her welcomingly, they parted enough to leave one solitary figure in the middle. To Lexie, all time seemed to stop. Her breath caught in her chest and the heart seemed to stop. In the middle of the floor there seemed to be her mirror image, but the genuinely happy smile proved it to be anything but. _My God, it... it can't be her!_

"Hey Lexie," Sky said to her sister. Not believing what she was seeing, but not willing to let it go, Lexie rushed to her sister as tears fell down her cheeks. Running faster through the crowd, she pulled her sister into a powerful embrace as they spun about on the floor. _I'm sorry Quentin, but please, please God, just... just let this be real._

* * *

"Is she dead?" Boy # 12, Paul Holt, asked. 

Using one of the broken pieces of pipe they had tried to wedge the cockpit door open with earlier to prod Lexie in the shoulder, Girl # 5, Ashley Vasquez, sighed. No response. Lexie Hawk, formerly Girl # 20, lay propped against that damn piece of landing gear in a pool of her own blood. It was bad, very bad when it happened, the blood, it just wouldn't stop. Even when she pulled her belt from the loops in her pants, tied it around and made a tourniquet, it just wouldn't do. She just seemed to go quiet, fade away, shiver for a bit and then... go away.

"Yeah, she's gone," Ashley said as she looked to the ground, "God damn it."

"Must've hit the main artery in the leg," Paul said, trying his best to think rationally in an effort to counter the fact that someone he'd spent a very long period of time with just died, "Cut that blood pipe in the leg, wide as a thumb, should've bled out a while ago. It's a miracle she made it as long as she did."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ashley asked as she continued to probe Lexie's body with the pipe.

"Sorry, old, old movie quote, before our time," Paul said quickly, "just trying to think anything normal, just, anything normal you know? Anything normal that's not this I guess, but this isn't normal is it? Then again, Craven isn't all that normal either, especially his earlier stuff and-"

"Help me with this pipe?" Ashley asked as she cut Paul off in mid-sentence.

"Sure," Paul said as he approached Ashley from behind, holding the narrow piece of metal as she did her best to negotiate it around one of the straps from Lexie's pack. _Thank God one strap lost itself when she ran, otherwise we'd be shit out of luck here._

Using Paul as a counter-balance, Ashley maneuvered the pipe and hooked it around the free shoulder strap from Lexie's backpack. Pulling it back ever so slightly, she pulled the bag across the no-man's-land and brought it back into the remains of the fuselage.

"Must be running low on ammo up there," Ashley said with a bit of a laugh, "This bag should've been shot to shit by now."

"Yeah," Paul said as the sick realization came to him, "she must be saving her ammo for a sure thing."

"Like Lexie," Ashley said with a sigh.

"Yeah, like Lexie," Paul replied with another sigh.

"Still sure it's a she?" Ashley asked, "I mean, I known some spiteful bitches, but I don't know ones willin to hold a grudge like _this_. Most don't ever let it die, but just get bored and move on."

"It's my best guess given the announcements," Paul replied, "given the battle we heard this morning and the fact that whoever's up there is still up there it's gotta be Marie."

"Bitch's been busy," Ashley remarked bluntly.

"No kidding," Paul replied as he looked to the list that hung around his neck, "Jacob, Rudy, Lindsay, Lori, Lara... Lexie."

"Like I said, bitch's been busy," Ashley repeated as she unzipped Lexie's backpack. Some water, not a whole lot, but enough to work for the two of them for a little while longer. Colt .45 semi-automatic pistol she'd taken from Brian's dead body, full magazine with ten shots. Another magazine also full, twenty shots total. Not bad. Not great, but could be a helluva lot worse at least. Blood. There was blood on the bag. Ashley shivered. _You've seen so much of it so far, why's this gone and got you all scared like this?_

"Think you can manage a piece like this?" Ashley asked in a wavering voice as she rotated the weapon so that the handle was exposed to Paul. Reaching out his hand, Paul grasped the pistol and pulled out the slide. _Just like the movies, right._

"I can manage," he replied simply. Nodding silently, Ashley nervously handed him the remaining clips. Her face had a slight sadness to it that Paul couldn't quite pinpoint, like whatever spark that made her what she was had suddenly faded, though not gone out entirely. Her usual energy... almost gone. Almost.

"So what now?" Paul asked optimistically, "We still try and work on the dig and make a run for it?"

"I don't know," Ashley said a bit mournfully.

"You don't know?" Paul asked back. He watched as Ashley put her head in her hands, pulling her hair back and looking at the ceiling of the fuselage. She was trying her best to seem composed, and was failing abysmally.

"We're all going to die..." Ashley said, finally resigning herself to a truth that she never wanted to believe. For the longest time in the game she had hedged her bets on either imminent death or a miraculous escape, never fully believing in either and never placing all her faith in one realm. Having been trapped in the fuselage wreckage had made the belief in an imminent death that much clearer, but it hadn't done any real good.

"No," Paul replied gently, "something's going to happen. We'll dig ourselves out and find an escape, or, or Carter or someone is going to come for us and kill that bitch in the tower and come save us. They have to, and we'll all get out together."

Altogether he didn't know whether or not he believed what he was saying, but for Ashley, he was willing to try and give her the comfort. Ashley sighed, reaching into her pocket and fumbling about for her pack of cigarettes. _One left, great... save that for later._

"It's like being on a ship you know is sinking, no way out, you know?" Ashley continued, "Everyone around you is screaming and yelling, 'We're sinking, we're sinking', when all you really want to do is grab the person next to you and fuck the shit out of them."

A tear actually drifted down her cheek as she focused back on Paul, "It's just, you know you're going to be dead soon anyway, right?"

Leaning over, Ashley kissed Paul on the lips. Normally one not to give up a good thing, Paul didn't quite know how to handle the situation and did not reciprocate as well as he could have. Yes, he'd always wanted to kiss her, yes, he'd always wanted to get in her pants. But like this? Wasn't there something wrong with this? It was then she chose to place his hands on her breasts, and all resolve Paul may have had disappeared.

"Should we wear condoms?" Paul asked as Ashley pressed her lips ferociously against his.

"Don't worry, I'm clean," she replied as she pulled a few stray strands of hair from her shoulder. It had stuck to the oozing shrapnel wound as it dried, but she tried not to pay attention to it. They were both wounded, they were both covered in blood, muck, and god only knows how much other grime from two days in a jungle without a shower, and any sex education teacher would have screamed had they seen what was happening in the back of that rusted fuselage. Then again, given the circumstances and the distinct possibility that they wouldn't live more than another seventeen hours, neither Ashley nor Paul was really willing to care.


	61. Hour 56: 13 Contestants Remaining

Hour 56

13 Contestants Remaining

The wind shifted and the two men grimaced. It wasn't the act of the wind changing that did it though, no, given the strange weather conditions on the island that they'd already become accustomed to coupled with the fact that none of them really cared enough to pay attention to said weather, they hadn't really noticed. What they did notice however, and notice in spades, was the smell. The wind had a sickly, heavy smell, one of rotten meat. It was the smell of death, and as the sun began to bake down on their island, it only got worse.

"This place is ripe," Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, said.

"No kidding," Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15, replied, "and it's only going to get a lot worse. When I was little, we wasn't so well off when it came to families and had to live out by the stockyards for a couple years. Lemme tell ya, when the sun would hit it's peak at about noon, it makes this seem like nothing. When we hit noon here, when the bugs and birds are all out doing their thing, we're all going to wish we weren't anywhere close to these stenches."

"These aren't animals though," Carter corrected, "these are people."

"Animals, people, in the end we're all meat," Matt said with surprising nonchalance.

"That's a pleasant thought," Carter replied with a notable grimace.

"Not so much a thought as a fact of life here," Matt corrected as he wavered on his feet, "Counting three in the bunker there's give or take thirty-seven bodies all around. Yesterday's rains basted them pretty good and when the wind hits it's going to get real, real bad. Forty people... that's bad."

"Jesus..." Carter said as the number truly hit him.

"I don't know what's worse though," Matt continued a bit sardonically, "the fact that there's that many dead bodies of people we know out there or the fact that it's not registering like it used to."

Noticing the stunned look on Carter's face, Matt caught a glimpse of that Evil Eye again. _Christ, that was two days ago when things were messed up. What, like they aren't messed up now? No, no, things are still messed up, but you got a clear look at how things go now at least. Yes, it's all a lot... clearer now._

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I like or accept the fact that there's bodies of people we knew all over the place out here, but it's something we're dealing with."

"Dealing, yes," Carter admitted, then turning about, "accepting, no."

"So you can deal with the fact that we got dead people all over the place but you can't accept that they're dead?"

"I can't accept," Carter continued, "the fact that we live in a country that celebrates violence and brutality so much that it employs it's armed forces to keep kids on an island in a game of death. I can't accept the fact that our country, this great democracy, is run by those with the money instead of by the people. I can't accept the fact that people are dying for the sake of entertainment and profit."

"And despite you it still goes on. Gotta love this country, eh?" Matt said, "At least we're not selling out and going the crazy kill route, right? We Can Be Heroes and all that shit, right?"

"I killed," Carter said with a bit of regret, "you know that. I'm not a hero here."

"Nah, if what you said is what happened then you didn't kill Homer," Matt admitted as he leaned against the tree, "Homer, that guy's just a dumbass. Well, was a dumbass. He tried taking you on like he did before and just couldn't do it right. Dumbass."

"Doesn't help any that I pushed him into the Danger Zone," Carter shot back.

"And it also doesn't help him any that he attacked a guy bigger than him with nothing more than a little dart gun that don't do too much," Matt shrugged, "I don't know why you're mourning a guy who's a major asshole and who was looking to make our lives more difficult out here than they already are."

"I'm not mourning, just... I don't know," Carter admitted with a sigh. The distinction between good and bad had disappeared far too long ago, and Carter couldn't quite place where he was. Yes, he was on the side of heroes, he was in a group of revolutionaries looking to take the game down with a pretty good shot at pulling it off. The game even allowed him the confidence to come out and tell the girl he'd had a crush on that he actually had a crush on her. And yet... something didn't quite feel right about it. Homer's death was not an accident, and though he hadn't fretted it for much of the game, it was beginning to nag at him. It was no kill, no self defense. It was anger, pure and simple. _You hate murder and cowardice above all else, yet in the end you succumbed to both. You get the chance to be the hero now at least, right? Save some lives instead of taking them, that counts as atonement, right?_

A twig's snap brought both men back to attention, yet before they could draw their guns a voice accompanied the noise.

"It's me," Girl # 4, Katherine Farraday said as she braced a hand against a low hanging branch, "it's me guys."

"You all right?" Carter asked as he walked over to her. Still with the shade of a glower she'd had since Carter had introduced the plan to rescue the airfield crew, she forced enough of a smile to put up a sarcastic response.

"I was just peeing, not crossing a minefield," she said deadpan, "I'm all right. Stop asking me that."

"Cool," Carter replied as he pushed off from the tree he'd been leaning against, "then let's get going."

"Right on," Matt said with a slight slur, "let's do this."

Walking ahead enthusiastically, Matt waved to the young lovers.

"Come on guys, we don't have much time, let's get moving!" he said with a faltered step, "Come on!"

Matt made a quick path through the jungle they'd hidden in back to the main road that Carter and Katherine could only do their best to keep up with. It was true, he did seem to know his way around the island better than most anyone else, as he had guided them nearly halfway to the airfield as the map indicated. Nevertheless, there were as many things about Matt that made Carter nervous as things he was glad about. His motives were a bit misplaced, if anything. Carter was more than one to admit the power of a strong attraction and what it made one capable of, but in a life or death situation he also knew where to keep his priorities. Had SABRE not occurred, Carter was more than willing to admit that he would not have actively sought out Katherine's company or attention. In a game where trust was difficult at best, searching for someone you're not sure if you can trust seemed like an unnecessary risk. Not that he was complaining with how things turned out, rather, he was glad they went the way they did. The less mistrust to go around, particularly with someone as radiant as Katherine, the better. So seeing Matt's intensity in trying to seek out someone he didn't even know he could trust, someone he'd even admitted assaulted him earlier, seemed a little strange (given, Carter knew Lexie as well as anyone on SABRE and knew she was trustworthy in the context of the game, but how Matt did not and still sought her out seemed particularly odd.)

The other, probably more disturbing fact, was that it seemed like Matt was slowly dying. They'd sewn him up and stopped the bleeding earlier, but his injuries were getting infected and infected badly. The bandages they'd covered his chest slash with were soaked through with all sorts of slimes and smells that were better left unknown, and his health was beginning to teeter. His skin was pale and oily, though Matt tried to cover with his hooded sweatshirt. His step was quick, but unsteady. He was still one of the strongest contestants alive in the game, yet at the same time he was getting weaker by the minute. Truth be told, it amazed Carter that he could still stand.

"I think we're lost," Katherine mused as she looked at the map around her neck with her free hand.

"You don't think Matt knows where he's going?" Carter asked quietly enough to remain out of earshot.

"I think he knows where he's going, but I don't think he knows why he's going," Katherine replied, "We met him when he was nearly dying and delirious, and now he's going out of his way to risk life and limb to find Lexie. Frankly, here and now I find that strange. Even more I find that strange out of you."

"What do you mean?" Carter asked with definite shock.

"This," Katherine continued, "why we're out here."

"I'm not following," Carter replied earnestly.

"We're out here to rescue a girl just like Matt is, we're risking our lives because you want to save Ashley," Katherine accused.

"I wanted you to stay back," Carter butted in.

"And I wanted you to stay back too," Katherine said bluntly, "I don't want you out here risking your life for something stupid and pointless."

"Friendship is not stupid," Carter replied harshly, "and it's about as far from pointless as possible. You don't know what it's like, you've always had friends. I haven't, and Ashley's one of the few people who's ever given a damn about me."

"I've always had friends?" Katherine shot back, trying to do her best to keep from stealing Matt's attention, "Where do you get the right to accuse me of having more friends? I spent years, _years,_ wondering what it would be like to have friends before I got any. Don't try and make it like you know me when you know nothing."

"Sorry," Carter responded softly, "sorry."

_Wonderful, just, wonderful. Girl of your dreams, you got together with her and now you're looking at her like an adversary. This ain't how it's supposed to go man, not one bit._

"Do you have a best friend?" Carter asked.

"What?" Katherine replied.

"Quick, simple question. Do you have a best friend, someone you consider to be more like a member of your family than you do any of your family? A confidante, a person you tell all your secrets to, someone who may actually be a part of you, a best friend?"

"Of course I do," Katherine responded quickly, "ever-"

"Could you kill your best friend?" he asked bluntly.

"That has nothing to do with this!" Katherine said defensively.

"Simple question, could you kill your best friend or allow your friends death through omission of action?"

"This isn't fair," she continued, "this isn't about me!"

"No, this is about loyalty and life," Carter replied, "Ashley is my best friend and I can not leave her to die. But let's say she wasn't my best friend I'd still be going out to try and help because no one, _no one_, deserves to be left here on this island to die if they can help it. Ashley, Lexie, Paul, they can help it, but they can't help themselves right now. That's why I'm coming out here."

"But what if doing that risks your own life? Risks the life of the one you love?" Katherine asked honestly. She grabbed his hand, trying to slow him down for a moment of honesty. Trying to continue, he pulled away and kept following Matt. Katherine looked to the boy with hurt in her eyes, trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation and not knowing what, if anything, could be done. _You've been an item for nearly a day now and under a stressful situation at that, why, why fight now? You should be even closer now, and he should be supportive, but, but, he's not thinking straight!_

As she caught up in stride, Carter slowed down with his face showing apology.

"I didn't want to be out here risking your life," Carter replied.

"But you also knew I wouldn't leave you here," Katherine said with true hurt.

"Yes, I did," Carter replied, "I wanted you to be safe, but I knew that trying to get you to do something you didn't want to do would be fighting a losing battle. You're too damn stubborn."

Despite the harshness of the situation and the severity of their argument, Katherine couldn't help but laugh at his honesty. _You could die at this very moment because he dragged you out here and yet he's still making you laugh, how weird is this?_

Looking up from the ground, Katherine caught a sight that immediately caused her heart to skip a beat. Matt was no longer moving. He stood his ground, looking for something? Trying to find something? No, he hadn't lost his way. His gun was drawn and it was drawn high.

"He's stopped," Katherine observed to Carter.

Taking the moment to look away from Katherine, Carter too observed their third's odd look into the jungle. _This isn't good. He may be bleeding, he may be infected, he may even be crazy, but Matt's got god instincts. This can't be good._ Going against his better instincts, Carter sidled up alongside the skater.

"Matt, what is it?" Carter asked.

"Can you hear that?" Matt asked in return seconds later. Holding his breath subconsciously, Carter listened as hard as he could and could hear nothing.

"Hear what?" Carter whispered back.

"No, really, listen!" Matt replied, then pointing to the east, "over there!"

"What is it?" Carter asked again.

"Something..." Matt said mysteriously, "that shouldn't be here. I'm going to check it out, real quick."

Before Carter could protest, Matt bounded off at top speed in the direction of the phantom sound. Slinging his rifle into a defensive position, Carter did what he could to keep up with their wayward associate. Although he could not see it, he did know that Katherine was following them. He could even hear her cry out, but could not make out the words that came from her mouth. _Jesus Matt, what the hell is going on! This is insane, what the hell is this, what is in your head and... and... what the hell is that noise?_

"What the hell is that?" Carter asked to no one in particular. Scaling the hill that Matt had run up rather quickly, Carter reached the small clearing that their skater friend had found and looked around confused. He didn't know what was more confusing given the circumstances; that he was hearing the sound of a motor that couldn't possibly exist, or the fact that Matt was laughing like a maniac.

"Matt, what is it?" Carter asked. The boy did not respond, simply looking to the sky and laughing like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. Katherine joined seconds later and looked on with eyes that could tell a story.

"They're idiots," Matt laughed, "they're just fucking idiots. I mean, how could you get any dumber?"

"Who's the idiot?" Carter asked. Getting no more a response than another fit of laughter from Matt, Carter looked to Katherine for some sane response. Instead she mouthed three words that were unmistakable. _He's lost it!_

It was then that the sound roared into life, the faint sound of a motor turning into an oscillating rumble. As it swooped down low over the island, they could hear it louder than life and see it's true form.

It was a plane.

Not just any kind of plane, it was a vintage biplane towing a banner behind it. It flew about haphazardly, making seemingly random circles as it criss-crossed in a large S-shaped pattern over the island. If the sheer sight of a plane towing a banner weren't enough, the words that the banner spread out were enough to bring a look of shock to both Carter and Katherine while getting another roar of laughter out of Matt.

'AMERICA hearts U JOEL! WIN TI ALL!'

"You gotta be fucking kidding," was all Carter could muster under the circumstances.

"They're maniacs," Katherine blurted out.

"They're insane," Carter added.

"They're idiots like that," Matt laughed, "flying around like this over military land, I mean, look at this, there's gotta be a no fly zone and they're doing this? Fucking idiots."

As the plane took a sharp bank, something other than the banner appeared from the edge of the sky. The thin white line crossed the clear blue and followed the plane with astonishing speed. As the plane was almost directly above the trio on the hill the white line met up with it and transformed the plane into a massive ball of fire and debris.

"Jesus Christ!" Carter cried out as the explosion occurred with a thundering blast overhead. With eyes trained upwards, it didn't take long for the three to see the flaming debris raining down and duck for cover.

"What the hell, what the hell, what the hell," Katherine repeated as she hid underneath a log as flaming pieces of plane hit the ground in the spot she stood only moments before. As it seemed, the plane's natural momentum sent most of the debris sailing towards the other side of the island, but what little did fall around them was more than enough to be afraid of. Watching the small clearing from behind a tree, Carter stared as a flaming lawn gnome fell from the sky and landed upright among a clump of grass. _Why in God's name would someone have a lawn gnome on the airplane, seriously, what the hell is that?_

"I don't know about you guys, but that was pretty fucked up," Matt finally spoke up with his laugh noticeably gone.

"It doesn't matter," a shaken Carter finally replied, "we slowed down and we're behind schedule. This was not necessary, it's eaten up our time, and frankly, it was really, really, really weird. Does anyone have a problem if we just keep going and get the hell out of here?"

"No man, I'm on it," Matt replied enthusiastically, "I am so on it man you don't even know how on it it is."

Once again taking the lead without anyone asking him to, Matt took off running down the hill he'd led them up moments before. As Carter looked to catch up, he turned around to see Katherine staring back in shock.

"Come on Katherine," Carter replied, "we have to get going."

For some reason, she could not respond. Something, just, something was not right about this, something seemed off. _They just, just, they just shot the plane out of the sky. They just shot the plane and killed the people on it like it was a fly, they just shot them like they were a fly! A fly!_

"Katherine!" Carter yelled in an effort to snap her back to attention. It worked, her gaze steely and piercing as it latched onto him.

"Are you all right?" he asked sympathetically. Instead of acknowledging him, Katherine quickly checked her gun. Six bullets, all there, perfect. Setting off after Matt, she stormed after Carter without so much as a glance.

"Like I told you, stop asking me that," she said simply, "I can take care of myself."


	62. Hour 57: 13 Contestants Remaining

Hour 57

13 Contestants Remaining

The demon cowered in the forest grove, surrounded as the two warriors set upon him with startling speed. The first, the man of great height and hair black as coal, knocked the beast to the ground with one of his mighty boots. Although the creature was quick to return to its feet, the great warrior set upon it with his sword. The demon was quick to dodge, withdrawing a fast sword from its back and slashing at its two attackers. The great warrior was not fast enough to miss the assault, a bright splash of red crossing his chest as the sword connected. The she-warrior was even faster on her feet, side-stepping the attack with great dexterity and striking out with her powerful sickle. The demon howled in pain as the weapon carved a deep chasm in its shoulder, but ever the fighter it dropped the sword and delivered a powerful uppercut punch to the woman's neck. She staggered back in obvious pain and dropped her own weapon to the dirt.

The demon quickly and mercilessly drop-kicked the girl, tossing her to the ground like a rag doll as he stood over her with sword in hand and roared into the sky. It readied to quickly disembowel the downed woman, smiling a toothy smile as it looked down with particular glee.

It was then that the warrior struck forth with his thunder stick, firing off two consecutive blasts. The first carved a hole in the demon's chest greater than a basketball, while the second transformed the Demon's skull into a fiery blast of bone and blood.

Walking towards the monster's husk, the warrior knelt down beside it to eye its prize. Instead of some roar, some cry of victory, only two words managed to escape the killer's lips.

"Four gold?"

* * *

As the statistics rolled across his computer monitor and he took another sip from his Dr. Pepper, Doug cried out in protest again. 

"I lost 64 HP on some stupid level six demon and all I got was four frickin gold? That's a god damn ripoff if I ever saw one before."

_That'll teach you to join up with some random person off a chat room, never again, just go with those you trust. Paladin or not, if they don't know jack about what to do when they're fighting then they're no use._

Watching further as more statistics scrolled quickly up the monitor's side, a sight did come up that brought a definite smile to the warrior's face. _150 experience points earned and a magical dagger found. That'll fetch a real good price back at the blacksmith's shop! _Lingering in the defeat of his foe and the spoils of war, Doug leaned back in his swiveling office chair and raised his hands towards the ceiling.

"I AM INVINCIBLE!" he yelled triumphantly to the sky. Unfortunately, in his revelry he leaned back two inches farter than he should have and misplaced the chairs balance, in turn knocking him to the floor. _Stupid MMORPG's, they're going to kill you yet, but, damn I'm good!_

Clumsily getting back to his feet, Doug righted the chair and gleefully finished off the can of Dr. Pepper. _Magic dagger, gonna trade it for some gold and get enchanted chain mail and then I'm gonna be a real badass._ He tossed the empty can into a recycling bin in the corner of his basement room and scored a resounding three point shot.

"And the hits," he said confidently, "they just keep on coming."

Sliding across the floor he pressed the button on his CD player that brought it to life. With a strike of the random button, Doug found a pleasant guitar riff coming through the speakers and the soothing voice of Jim Morrison greeting his ears. He danced around the floor victoriously completely out of touch to the music, but oddly befitting his appearance nevertheless.

"_People are strange, when you're a stranger, faces look ugly when you're alone; women seem wicked when you're unwanted, streets are uneven when you're down..."_

Closing his eyes as he slid on the concrete floor in his socks, Doug caught an oddly familiar sound that seemed to be cutting in on the music. _Did you hear that?_ Again, that same damn dinging sound. Opening his eyes and looking to the monitor, Doug caught a new IM screen jumping over the grand mystical land of the game he'd been playing.

**gothcutie420:** hey

**gothcutie420: **u there?

Normally an instant message was nothing special enough to remove Doug from an invincible victory dance, but always the gentleman he was willing to make exceptions when the situation called for it, and of all the people in Braiwood High School, Aileen Dinh was one of the ones he was willing to make the greatest exception for. Typing up a quick response, he entered it and hoped she'd not lost interest.

**WarriorsEnd:** hey

**gothcutie420:** sup?

**WarriorsEnd:** not much, u?

**gothcutie420:** 'bout the same.

_And whoever said there was never any meaningful conversation on the internet?_ Even Doug couldn't help but laugh at his own thoughts. Sure, even he was one to admit that the internet was gradually deteriorating at society almost as much as the government and was rapidly dumbing down all the kids who used it, but damn it if it wasn't fun. Looking to quench his curiosity, Doug typed out a query that had been bugging him for some time during the day.

**WarriorsEnd:** make it to school today? didn't see u

**gothcutie420:** didn feel like it, drove sum, got sum burgers, buzz, u no?

**WarriorsEnd:** ya

The wide grin that had crossed Doug's face broke out into an actual laugh. Aileen... predictable, why even ask? Aileen was definitely among the school's rebels, becoming a rather mild goth and rather powerful party girl, and was rather fond of boycotting school on a regular basis. It was probably in backlash to her strict, first generation Vietnamese parents, but Doug didn't know enough to ask without sounding like a total jerk. Nevertheless, he was also one to admit that he was quite smitten with her, since despite the pale makeup and harsh sense of style she had a cute face and a pretty smoking bod.

**gothcutie420:** so wut r u doin tomorrow nite?

Now if there was one question that was capable of stopping Doug in his tracks, it would be his prom night activities. _Yeah, prom night's tomorrow. Big whoop, not like anyone you know is gonna be there or anyone that's gonna want you is gonna be there. It's just one of those stupid occasions for everyone to spend a whole bunch of money because they like to impress everyone they know on something that is ultimately pointless and won't be cared about. Then again, Aileen's a girl and that may not be the best way to say it. Honesty works, right?_

**WarriorsEnd:** well its prom nite right?

**gothcutie420:** ya

**WarriorsEnd:** so same as usual, nuthin :P

**gothcutie420:** hahahahaha

**WarriorsEnd:** ty, ty, im here all week

"Yeah, that's a good line, like she never heard that one before," Doug said to himself as he got out of his chair and crossed the room. Opening the refrigerator under the stairs, he pulled out another can of Dr. Pepper and opened it, taking a quick sip before returning to his chair and seeing a question that actually got his pulse up.

**gothcutie420:** so u got no plans tomorrow?

_Could this be it? The infamous first date thing? She's just asking about plans, don't put too much into it, just, play it cool._

"What am I thinking," Doug said aloud as he shook his head, "I'm trying to play it cool over an internet instant messaging window. Dear God I'm a nerd."

**WarriorsEnd:** no, y?

**gothcutie420:** theres a rave in the warehouse a few blocks down from rialto, u interested?

Doug mulled the possibilities over in his mind. Rave? Here in Braiwood? Sure, Burning Man was pretty cool, and they did pull off some good ones in L.A., but in Braiwood? Was it even possible that this town could have something cool aside from an abandoned mental institute? _Let's clear things up a bit, see where everyone stands._

**WarriorsEnd:** maybe, u gonna be there?

**gothcutie420:** def

"Well that settles it," Doug said aloud as he cracked his knuckles and returned to the keyboard.

**WarriorsEnd:** see u there then.

**gothcutie420:** 10 then.

**WarriorsEnd:** 10 it is.

As she logged off, Doug could not help but lean back in victory once more, reaching his arms to the sky as he shouted aloud...

"I AM INVINCIBLE!"

...at which point he promptly fell on his ass once again.

* * *

"Now that was fucked up mate," Bo Adrian, a.k.a. Boy # 11, stated bluntly as he looked out the window and did his best to avert his gaze from the center of the room, "and I've seen plenty of fucked up stuff, but that, that's something that takes it. What the bloody hell were they doing flying over the island like that?" 

"Some stupid fans or something," Girl # 11, Jenny Reese, replied as she tried to hold back the nausea and closed her eyes, "wanted their publicity. Whoever got them, they were a good shot."

"I doubt it, definitely doubt that," Michael Baxter, a.k.a. Boy # 21, corrected with some agitation, "heat seekers probably. Nobody, nobody is that good a shot. It's almost impossible to hit a moving target the size of an elephant let alone something like that airplane."

"Think one of the boats did it?" Jenny asked.

"Maybe," Michael replied, "would make the most sense."

As the trio talked, Boy # 2, Doug Rodgers, kept a silent vigil in the center of the room. The airplane's explosion and subsequent crash had most definitely grabbed their attention, and it was rather hard to ignore, but all in all it really shouldn't have been considered that big of an issue. Still, the debris... the debris, it was everywhere. The fireball that was the plane traveled over the mess hall from the north, dropping bits of debris every which way and landing maybe half a mile to the south of them. There were two things that caught Doug as problematic. The first was that this could have very well interfered with the escape; that was the big worry. The other was considerably less troublesome yet somehow more disturbing. True, given everything that he had seen and done during the course of the Battle Royale it shouldn't have been all that shocking or disturbing, but, well, anytime a severed hand falls from the sky and bursts through your window, it does tend to be a bit on the disturbing side. Nobody wanted to get near it, let alone cart it out or cover it up, so they were either stuck with staring at it or ignoring it entirely.

For some reason or another, Doug found himself in the camp that couldn't take their eyes off of it. _Burnt, severed in mid-wrist. Beer bottle label burned into the palm. Yeah, this guy had a good time of it._

"No, couldn't be," Doug finally spoke up, "I mean, it could be, but it's unlikely. Odds of hitting a moving target from the back of a moving boat even with a seeker would be difficult as all hell. A stationary location, that'd be best. They might have an automated system somewhere around the island, shoot it down with computers."

"You can do that?" Bo asked curiously.

"You can do anything with computers," Doug said as he finally tore his eyes from the hand and addressed the group, "but we have an even bigger problem I think."

Reaching to the plastic pouch around his neck, Doug brought it before the assembled trio and spoke rapidly.

"The wreckage was flying south more or less from here, right?" Doug said as he pointed to the mess hall's location on the map, then to a location maybe a quarter of a mile to the south, "and the staging area is here. If, if the wreckage of the plane hit there, we're fucked. We scouted it out, we know this area best and it's the only one that'd really work with what we're trying to work out here. If the area is damaged, if... if the funnel point is compromised in any way, we're screwed. If we don't have the control, we need the control, if we don't have it, we're screwed."

Jenny looked over with certain concern, and although she already knew what the answer was going to be, she asked her question anyway, "What are we going to do?"

"Go out there," Doug replied simply as he crossed the room and grabbed the shovel he'd propped in the corner, "I'm going to go out there and, and see how things are, and see if this is still going to work. It's our only hope."

"You can't go out alone, it's not safe," Jenny shot back.

"I can go fast on my own," Doug replied as he motioned to their injured member, "besides, we can't all go, not with Michael like that."

"Shit man, I'll go with you," Bo interjected, "I can watch your back an' we leave 'em in the meat locker for safety. You guys think that sounds good?"

With Michael nodding and Jenny outing a quick yes, Doug looked to Bo with hesitance. _You and the wrestler, on any other day this'd be the worst damn combination possible and right here he's going to be your best friend. Now isn't there a certain symmetry to that?_

"All right," Doug said, "go get your hammer and we'll get moving."

"Right mate," Bo replied as he made a beeline for the kitchen to restroom where he'd cached the weapon. Looking up at Jenny, Doug pulled the revolver from his belt and handed it to Jenny.

"If anyone other than me and Bo or any of the rest comes, shoot them," Doug replied, then more softly, "if Bo comes without me, shoot him. If neither of us is back in an hour and things really go to shit... you know what to do."

"Yeah," Jenny nodded solemnly, "I do."

"We both do," Michael interjected as he looked to their new leader confidently, "we both do."

"Good, good," Doug replied. Craning his neck, he caught sight of Bo as he made a quick line across the room and towards the exit.

"Come on Doug my man we got little time to be a wastin' here ya know? Let's get this moving!" Bo hollered with particular enthusiasm as he opened the creaking front door. Quickly following suit, Doug brought the shovel up in both hands and prepared to use it on the first villain to bust through the door. Luckily, there was none, and for the moment at least their traveling would be clear.

"Hey Doug?" Jenny asked with a slight tear.

"Yeah?" Doug replied. Without a word, she quickly crossed the room and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

"Don't take that the wrong way," she said, "but that's for luck. Just get back here quickly and get us out of here, all right?"

Oddly aflutter given the situation, Doug cracked an even greater smile of confidence than he had known before, "We'll be right back, I promise."

Side by side, the wrestler and the nerd carried their respective weapons. The hammer Bo held was sleek and polished, while the shovel that Doug held was nearly forty years old and caked with great layers of dirt and rust. Though they were as different as the two adventurers, neither man seemed to care about their differences all that much. Bo remained driven for the escape, feeling it closer to his grasp than ever before, while Doug found himself walking a bit on air.

_Never thought your first kiss would come like that, did ya? Well, maybe not the first, but then again you still have no idea what happened that night..._

* * *

For a rave, Doug found the scene to be surprisingly subdued. The warehouse she'd indicated was hard to miss, given the fact that warehouses were few and far between in the Braiwood area, but the activity outside seemed surprisingly un-ravelike. There were a scattering of parked cars in the vacant lot next to the warehouse and more than a few bicycles, and the dull throb of the pounding techno music was hard to ignore, but it did seem to be nearly devoid of life. _Either this is going to be a ghost town, or it's a discrete rave. Wait, that's kind of an oxymoron, never mind-_

"Hey!" an enthusiastic voice hollered from behind. Although it was a generic female voice, he'd have known it from miles away and hearing it brought a level of comfort to an otherwise unfamiliar situation. He whirled around to catch Aileen Dinh, aged 17, as she sidled up next to him and delivered a quick high five. Priding in his cat-like reflexes (assuming it was an aged, extremely overweight cat with significant brain damage), Doug returned the high five with a broad grin.

"What up?" she asked eagerly.

"Ten o clock, right on time as promised," he responded with wide eyes as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "surprised you made it here on time too I guess, was gonna start the party without ya."

"Yeah, right," Aileen responded with an eye roll, "you'd have stood out there and waited for me 'cause you got nothing better to do."

"Or that, yeah," Doug admitted honestly.

"Like the duds, major props to you on that," Aileen added as she scanned Doug up and down. Never one for style but taking a moment of pride in the retro t-shirt and jeans he had picked up, Doug nodded with a grin. He would have said the same for Aileen had he been able to get the words out, but being a horny young male the words had a hard time materializing. Platform shoes, torn fishnet stockings, unbelievably short skirt and a very tight black tube top worked out with her Goth look rather nicely, while the stunning lack of makeup made her look ever the more normal. To Doug, she was hotter than anything he'd ever known, and like any male under similar circumstances, the words came naturally.

"Uh, you too?" he muttered out.

"Thanks, I think," Aileen replied awkwardly, then forcing another smile, "so you wanna go in or do you wanna stand out here all night gawking at my chest."

Looking back up to her face, Doug replied, "Well I can't help that with your shoes my eye level happens to be around your rather impressive top there, but, yes, I'd rather enjoy the chance to get inside and bust a move or two."

"Wait, you actually just said bust a move?" Aileen asked with a laugh.

"Yeah, sorry if I'm not quite up to speed on all the modern youth nomenclature, but cut me some slack all right, I spend maybe ten hours in front of a computer a day, just four more than you," he joked right back.

"I'll give you that, I'll give you that," she responded, "All right, so would you be interested in going in, yes or no?"

"Lead the way," Doug replied with a motion towards the warehouse. As Aileen took the lead dutifully, Doug fell behind and followed her. The situation admittedly was a bit of an intimidating one. Given, he had gone to his fair share of raves, but usually ones he'd heard about. He had good information on them more often than not and went with a whole bunch of people. So, the fact that one was going on in his own hometown right under his nose struck him a little bit odd, but given the stress of finishing all the work for senior year that much was to be expected. He didn't have enough time to plan for the situation, no way to gain... control. The lack of control and knowledge freaked him out a bit, but for Aileen, he was more than willing to face the fears. _Can tonight be the night?_

As they reached the entrance, she waved to the man at the door (some three hundred pound biker type by the looks of things), and waited as he slid the large metal door open. Within seconds, Doug followed Aileen in and found himself to be surprisingly impressed.

There were maybe a hundred and fifty, two hundred teenagers and twenty-somethings dancing in the middle of the abandoned warehouse to an intense and booming techno-remix of "Take On Me", black lights and strobes set off at regular intervals in tune to the music as most everyone had glow sticks and were dressed for the party. A sea of people and faces blended in to one another in the darkness as they all danced and writhed with one another. Looking over her shoulder, Aileen grabbed one of Doug's hands and pulled him in to the mass with her.

"Come on, let's dance!" she shrieked enthusiastically.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Doug was more than happy to oblige the girl as he did his best not to make a fool of himself. Given the low light and the general apathy of the crowd, he doubted it was going to be an issue. _Besides, I got the hottest girl in this room and she's paying attention to me, lemme tell ya I'd take this over prom night any day._

* * *

"So you're saying, what you and me are doing here, is being terrorists?" Bo asked with some confusion. 

"I wouldn't quite put it in such harsh words," Doug responded, "and I didn't say that that was actually what we would be, but it would be what everyone is likely to consider us as, you savvy?"

"No mate, not quite," Bo replied as he used his sledgehammer to push a fallen log out of their way. It was the middle of the morning and already things were stiflingly hot and humid, and already the smell of death was beginning to drift their way. Given, the smell of death had been something they'd begun to ignore with the bodies of Gus and Anna and the remains of Brian from their earlier belt removal attempts stinking things up pretty good. Still, it wasn't entirely hot when they'd had those corpses and they knew not the full experience of rotting flesh under a hot sun with high humidity. Definitely not Bo's choice of locale's, but for survival he was willing to tolerate more than a bit.

"Terrorists, the way I know 'em at least, go into places and blow up a bunch of innocent people for the purpose of proving a point," Bo continued.

"Some do that, yes," Doug replied, "but that's a very narrow-minded definition of the term. Terrorists do what they do because they are willing to fight and die for what they believe in. Their methods aren't always in dealing with death and destruction, more often than not they aim to simply disrupt everyday life."

"And that's what we're doing?" Bo asked, still unable to wrap his mind around the word.

"No, not really," Doug said simply, "what we're doing wouldn't make us terrorists, but that's what we'll be branded. It's a matter of perspective that divides the freedom fighter from the terrorist. I mean, look at it, you've got the IRA, they believe in what they're doing pretty strongly, don't they?"

"Yeah, but they're a bunch of idiots since it's not gonna do them much good in the long run," Bo replied, "change hasn't been made in hundreds of years despite what they do and it makes no sense why they're still fighting it."

"See, that's the other side," Doug responded, "They know they're fighting a losing war but they're doing what they're doing because they believe it is right. You believe they're stupid for doing just that. Like us, we're in here fighting for something that everyone else may see as stupid, but when we succeed, we'll look like we've done something horrible to disrupt their system and everything they worked for, and we'll be the ones branded the terrorists so they have somebody to blame for it."

Bo, ever the good-hearted boy but not always the fastest when it came to thinking for himself, finally felt he could figure it out. "I get you now," he replied.

"All right," Doug said with a smile, "I'm not saying that we're the bad guys here, but a lot of people are going to see us that way."

"If it means my life, I'm prepared to be a bad guy," Bo replied bluntly as he gripped the sledgehammer, "I'm defini-"

"We're here," Doug interjected as he looked over his map and over the landscape. He was not one hundred percent sure as to the location's appearance, as it had been Anna who took the major scouting expeditions to find the perfect spot and that he had only seen it once (at night to make things that much worse), but he was fairly confident. _Yeah, definitely, this is it. We're here man, definitely, this is it. Mango tree at the bottom of a slight hill, one limb sticking too far to the north and it looks like it should have broken off but it isn't. Bottom of a washout, perfect choke point._

"Where man?" Bo asked with confusion.

"Down the way a bit," Doug motioned, "I don't see any debris or smoke or fire, but we have to check it out."

"To make sure," Bo confirmed.

"Yeah, to make sure," Doug said as he began a quick stride down the slight slope with shovel in hand, "stay here, I'll be back."

_You got this situation all under control man, just give it a little bit of effort and we're all going to get out of this thing nice and alive and we're all gonna be drinking margaritas by tomorrow. It's all a matter of control, just, keep it simple and the situation will present itself w-_

Lost in thought, Doug found his foot caught on the outstretched root of a tree. His whole world tilted on end as he landed flat on his chest. Hard. Bodily momentum carrying him, he tilted end over end and rolled down the embankment, landing flat on his back as the shovel flew from his hands and glasses disappeared from his face.

"You OK mate?" Bo hollered from the top of the hill.

"Yeah, I just did something very stupid," Doug replied. He reached out, groping the around blindly and finally latching on to something thin and plastic. He grasped the frames in both hands and quickly brought them to his face, just in time to see that one lens had a very nice crack right down the middle of it. _Great, just, great, and to think this all started off so well..._

A sharp hissing noise brought him back to attention and made his blood run positively cold. It was a natural sound, one ingrained in instinct to instill fear in all living creatures because it meant an imminent and utterly agonizing death. Rolling over onto his belly, Doug found himself face to face with a coiled snake, ready to strike and with a head shaped in such a way that there was no mistaking it for anything other than toxic.

_Shit._

* * *

It was already two in the morning, and Doug was beginning to definitely feel the fatigue. The non-stop beat and throbbing of the music, bodies moving in unison with one another. Come midnight, the crowd had swelled by an extra hundred people and the room was packed with flesh. The humidity was killer, the steam and sweat and music proving to be an overwhelming experience. Doug had gone to a few raves in his time, but this one became a disorienting experience of light, sound and smell. The blur would have overtaken everything had Aileen not been the focus of all his attention. She had an orange halo of glow sticks around her head and seemed to be more than a little too happy to be here (although Doug detested drugs, he did not complain when Aileen downed a few tabs of X for the experience), and more than anything Doug rather enjoyed being there with her. _Make this the night, make this the night to change things. Go on out and take the plunge, get that first kiss you've wanted to go for so much... but first get over the fact that it's hotter than hell in here._

"I'm gonna get something to drink!" he yelled over the music to Aileen, who seemed to be more than a little ambivalent to the situation.

"What?" she yelled back with a smile that would have cut her head in half had it stretched all the way around.

"Agua!" he hollered even louder as he made his way to the edge of the room. There had been some ratty looking street vendor kind of guy set up with a booth selling overpriced bottles of water and glow sticks that Doug swore he would never even consider buying, but once the night wore on and both became a necessity, he was more than willing to break the bank for the night (even if the glow sticks were a crappy shade of not-quite-blue-not-quite-purple, Doug was willing to make an exception.) Given a few minutes to fight his way to the other side of the expansive room, Doug found the vendor and thrust a few dollar bills into his hand.

"You want the blue or the green water?" the vendor yelled.

"What?" Doug asked confusedly.

"The water!" the vendor yelled as he showed Doug two bottles, one with a blue wrapper and one with a green.

"Does it make a difference?" Doug yelled.

The vendor caught the question and laughed slightly, though what about Doug had no idea. Instead, the vendor simply shouted "NO" before handing him the green bottle.

"Thanks!" Doug yelled back. He unscrewed the cap, taking a long swig off the bottle of water before making his way back into the crowd. It tasted sweet, yet slightly bitter, like Gatorade. _Great, I paid six bucks for a bottle of Gatorade I could've gotten for three anywhere else._ Pushing through the surging, sweaty mob to find Aileen was no easy task, but with the added hydration and coolness of the water he felt nearly... invincible. Taking another deep swig, he pocketed the bottle and pushed through the crowd to find where he'd been not too long before, and Aileen surprisingly hard to miss.

"Hey!" he said as he sidled up next to her and continued the dance.

"Hey, you look so wild!" she yelled enthusiastically to the boy. The music had switched over to some techno remix of "Go Ask Alice", and although Doug was normally one to preserve the classics, this one did more than enough to do justice to the original.

"That's just the X talking!" he hollered back.

"Maybe," she yelled to him again, "you got water?"

"Yeah," Doug said, wincing slightly from some unforeseen pain. He did not know why, but for one reason or another there was a sharp pain in the back of his skull and it wasn't subsiding anytime soon. _Fatigue, it's gotta be fatigue._ Shrugging it off, he looked to Aileen and handed her the bottle. She eyed at the label dreamily, a shocked look crossing her face as she looked back up to Doug.

"Dude, you got the smart water!" she practically shrieked with glee.

"I got what?" Doug asked, the pain returning as he opened his eyes again to find the world a blur. The music pounded with greater intensity, every beat felt in every bone as all he saw kaleidoscoped into shades of blue, yellow and red. Aileen's face seemed to melt into the background, and he could hear her faintly yelling.

"Good-stuff...make you really think...you'll love it...just don't lose..."

For some reason he knew that he shouldn't listen anymore. He had to get out, had to leave. The world, the seething masses of people, all were becoming a sea of dead flesh and monsters. Faces melted into one another, chuckling demons and monsters they'd all transformed into. He could have sworn he saw someone's face transform into that of a dragon and felt all the more need to just get out of the room. _Just get out, get some air and get the hell out, just get your bearings and figure out what the hell is going on, just, figure it out and regain composure, regain control and everything is going to be all right._

With his feet suddenly feeling as if they were made of lead, Doug collapsed next to one of the room's pillars that had been rigged with strobe lights. He fell to the floor, staring up at one of the rotating lights as it caught him in the face. _Something, something's not right here, something, this isn't right, this isn't real, this isn't right, this isn't real, what is going on?_

FLASH!

He was kneeling down outside the warehouse, vomiting on the curb with a gash on his forehead.

FLASH!

He lay back in bed, the strange shadow of a body straddling his pelvis as it arched its back. Even in the darkness of the room he could notice the twin swells of the breasts.

FLASH!

"YOU WERE IRRESPONSIBLE, YOU COULD'VE GOTTEN YOURSELF KILLED, AND DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?" his father yelled at the top of his lungs as Doug sat at the kitchen table.

FLASH!

He sat on a cold, hard bed at the doctor's office, wincing in pain as the doctor tied several stitches into his scalp.

"What's happening?" Doug asked with confusion.

FLASH!

He was sitting at his desk looking at an open algebra textbook, homework halfway done. The pen was in his hand, and by the looks of things he'd just finished doing something with the quadratic equation. He looked around frantic, _5:38 pm, Saturday?_

"What's happening?" he asked himself with greater fear.

FLASH!

He sat in church, flanked with mom and dad on either side. The reverend up front was droning on about something that he would usually drone on about, something of forgiveness and evils and loving thy fellow man. _Sunday morning._

Standing up with fear coursing through his veins, Doug practically screamed, "WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?"

FLASH!

This time the light stayed, blinding his eyes and causing him to squint. _What's happening, is this permanent now? Am I trapped, what the hell, am I trapped in this? What is this, some sort of nightmare?_

Within half a moment, the light disappeared as the doctor clicked the flashlight off. Sitting around on that same damn bed that he sat on seemingly seconds ago (although actually days), Doug looked around the room. Spots from the light left his eyes, and although he wore no glasses, the calendar on the wall next to him was clear as day. _Christ, it's Monday!_

"So, Doug, your parents seem to believe there's something wrong with you," the doctor said soothingly, "can you tell me what's happening? Because if you don't, your blood tests most certainly will."

"I..." Doug stammered, "I don't know, I... don't know. I don't, don't... I don't have control. I can not control."

The doctor began to drone on more and more about possible toxic substances and hallucinogens and their effects, but Doug's kept all thoughts to himself. _No more flash, you're here now. You're here now and you'll stay, otherwise you would lose more time. Three days! You were gone for three days but your body lived like it was supposed to! You have no control, you never had it, your life, your mind, it was all beyond your grasp. Your small world is not yours, it has so many different things behind it that are beyond your control that it'd make your head spin. But, if you cannot control your body, you cannot control your destiny. Make sure you never lose control again, and you can do anything, no matter how impossible the odds may be..._

* * *

Looking at the snake as he lay prone and paralyzed with fear, Doug couldn't help but feel anger rise up in his chest. _I've lost control before, lost it when it was all I had and made me something new, I lost it again in the game, but I cannot lose it here, not now, not when it means the most. I lose it now, and none of us are making it out of this thing..._

"Look," Doug said calmly to the snake, "I know you can't understand me and can't hear me without ears and all, but I'm freaking out pretty decently and I need to say this so I don't lose my mind. I didn't fall down here meaning you harm, and I don't intend to do you any harm. I just want to get out of here and leave you alone, so you can go about eating rats while I can go out and do my own thing. A lot of people's lives depend on my survival, and if you let me go you'll be doing them all a big, big favor."

Curling back slightly, the snake brought its head off the ground as it hissed menacingly at Doug. He knew the shovel he'd dropped was only inches away, but given the snakes position a manner of inches from his face it would have been impossible to make it out in time. _Jesus Christ, reasoning with a snake. You've lost it, but you're keeping steady._

"I'm just, I'm just going to slide on over this way, and you can slide on over that way, and, and we can pretend that this didn't happen."

_Just let me get enough time to get my shovel, get it and get-_

As Doug made the distance between himself and the snake more than a foot, it coiled back and darted to strike his face with incredible speed. Looking through his cracked glasses he could see with startling clarity the viper's widened mouth, count its individual teeth. Looking down its throat in that fraction of a second he could have sworn that he could even see its poisonous glands...

And as it flew through the air to land a lethally poisonous bite on one of Doug's eyelids, the powerful blow of a sledgehammer crushed the snake into the ground with a meaty splat. Swinging his weapon around again as the body of the snake flopped around (with its head no longer existing, random nerve impulses along the spine kept it contorting), Bo pulverized the reptile into another bloody mess that left red dots all over Doug's face. As he panted with the exertion in the mid-day humidity, Bo swung the hammer up and balanced it on one of his shoulders, while reaching his other down to the fallen nerd.

"You all right mate?" Bo asked as he used his powerful grip to pull the younger boy to his feet.

"Yeah," Doug replied as he knelt down and picked up the shovel he'd misplaced in the fall, "I think I finally got this all under control."

"Come again?" Bo asked.

"Nothing," Doug replied with a wry laugh, "Nothing man."

Looking up, Doug could see the mango tree as bright as day. It was still there, there was no wreckage to be found anywhere nearby, and given the fact that he'd just been scared nearly shitless and was feeling rather poor from the fall, he was more than willing to call this one a day.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Doug said.

With a nod, the boy began to make a beeline up the hillside he'd fallen down. He was limping noticeably and more than likely in considerable pain, but given his enthusiasm he wasn't willing to let it show.

Looking up with a smile, Bo couldn't help but laugh hopefully.

"Now I like the sound of that."


	63. Hour 58: 13 Contestants Remaining

Hour 58

13 Contestants Remaining

"We're almost there, I know it!" Matt Hunter, a.k.a. Boy # 15, hollered as he fought his way through the thick clumps of undergrowth, "Just a little further, a little more, come on, we can make it!"

"Anyone ever tell you that you got the enthusiasm of a new puppy?" Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, asked as he panted behind the limping skater. By no means in horrendous shape, Carter was more than willing to admit that he was a bit overweight and not in the greatest of positions when it came to all this long-distance running. Sure, the first time they'd gone even greater distances than this, but then they were taking it slow. Then they had to make it through the rain, here they had to outright run just to make it in time for the escape.

And then of course there was the stench... _God only knows how many bodies are out here since the last announcement, but even now it's a lot. Christ, if we all just worked together, if we all just cooperated and stopped giving a damn about all this personal shit, we could've all gotten out. We could've gotten out, and we could've all gotten out together!_

"Sometimes," Matt replied without even looking back as he brought Carter from his thoughts, "more people just call me an asshole."

"Are you sure this is the way?" Girl # 4, Katherine Farraday, asked. Given Matt's intensity and his motivations, she was the most hesitant as to his abilities, but given the circumstances and Carter's seemingly endless faith, she really couldn't deter Matt from what he was doing.

"Sure as I am I'm Jewish," Matt replied with a smirk.

"You're Jewish?" Carter asked with genuine confusion.

"Half at least, great grandpa had the name changed to Hunter from Horowitz after Ellis Island," Matt continued, "you can learn anything on the internet, lemme tell ya."

"That doesn't answer the question," Katherine continued with more irritation.

"Positive," Matt replied, "Doug said Marie's maybe pinning Lexie, Paul and Ashley, right?"

"That's what it looks like," Katherine replied, "at least from what he could see."

"Well, a coupla nights ago when I was wandering around here, I ran into Jacob," Matt admitted, "guy saved me from running into the wrestlers which is a good thing I guess since I probably wouldn't be here now if he weren't there. But I caught him just on the edge of the airfield before doubling back across the island, and he was the first one Marie killed. If she's on the airfield, then that's where Jacob was killed and that's where I was wanderin."

"You're sure of that?" Katherine asked again.

"Always," Matt replied with a broken grin, "and never. But with what I got on the line here you can bet your ass I'm certain of what I'm talking about."

"Lexie?" Katherine asked with a grin as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"You got it," Matt said as he thrust his gun into the air to make a point, "I may be a fool and a damn fool at that for doing what I'm doing, but if what I'm doing just lets me keep myself from going nuts and does maybe a little bit of good out here I think I can rest well."

"Even though she beat your face in?" Carter asked for clarification.

"Bah, that was nothing," Matt said dismissively as he minded the dull throb in his face from their encounter the day before, "if she didn't do it I'd have found a new way to do it myself. If I don't mess up my face like this once a week on my own it's a pretty slow week, ya know?"

Looking over his shoulder for a fleeting moment, Matt hoped to see smiles from his wit. Instead, he could only see Katherine and Carter doing their best to keep up. While he held the fact that even injured he could outpace two people who were in more or less physically perfect condition with some pride, the fact that they were wasting time and wasting it fast wasn't giving him any comfort. _Lexie's out there and she's trapped, trapped and not a whole lot that can be done unless we all get there and get 'em out. Well, not so helpless at least, otherwise there'd be no attraction, no challenge. She's a tough one and that's why you've got a thing for her. Christ, her and Ashley together with Paul and the weapons they say he has, they shoulda been able to get out on their own easy. Marie, she oughta be a stone cold killer to do what she did out here._

As the trees began to grow thinner and the underbrush higher, Matt looked on with wide eyes. Looming above them nearly one hundred yards away was the air traffic control tower.

"This is it," Matt said, "we're here."

* * *

Marie Cooper, a.k.a. Girl # 21, had patience second to none and prided herself in it. Given the time and the resources, she could have easily stayed for days, maybe even weeks waiting for the three (though she was guessing two now after the one in the leg was hit) to emerge from their hiding places. Looking to her watch, she found with growing discontent that she did not have the time she had hoped for. The captives kept their spot in the wreckage and made no effort to escape, and given the fact that the hour was rapidly approaching that of their eventual mutual demise, she was beginning to have a slight tinge of fear... _Must not be defeated by people such as these or a game like this when the world has yet to know my greatness for form. They all know you as the bringer of death and destruction but not as the beautiful and graceful dancer you should be. It is my right, no, destiny! I have to get to Julliard!_

She looked out across the field, her face showing the slightest hint of concern but otherwise remaining as cold and steely as she had learned through years of practice. _This cannot be done the usual way, not the old-fashioned way. This can't be done the easy way, it must be done and it must be done up close and personal. This will be worse than the whores, though this time you have the distance and the fear. They are no competition, and they will realize it all too brutally..._

Surveying her weaponry calmly, Marie quickly shouldered her rifle and filled a pocket with as many bullets she could manage. Slinging the Uzi over her opposite shoulder, she then filled her backpack with what clips she had for the submachine gun and what grenades she could fit before walking over the door with little hesitation. As she descended the winding staircase, she took only a moment to consider the blood-drenched corpse of that slut as it hung from the banister, still suspended in the parachute Marie had wrapped her in during their fight.

Had she been able to smile, she would have if just for knowing that those on the ground would soon meet a similar fate to the hanging girl and her fallen friend.

_Hunting season..._

* * *

The loud pop of Marie's hunting rifle followed by a man's scream brought Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12, from his pleasant nap. _First peaceful slumber since I got here after a good time with the girl of my dreams, and this, this is what I get to show for it. Wonderful, just abso-frickin-lutely wonderful._

"Did I just hear that or am I dreaming?" Paul asked to no one in particular. With the short burst of machine gun fire that followed his words, he knew more than enough that this was no dream and that it was a reality.

"It's real," Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 said as she peered around the edge. The tall grass that had choked the field blocked most of their view, but the figures in the distance were clear in the morning sun.

"Idiots, when will they ever learn..." Paul muttered as they listened to the exchange, "Stupid bastards go in fighting-"

RATATATATATATA! The Uzi burst caught Paul off guard. This sounded different than the first when Lori and Lara died... this one sounded like it was-

"She's on the ground," Ashley said as she looked out the edge of the plane, "Marie is out of the tower and there's people out there with guns."

"Make a run for it?" Paul asked as he grabbed his backpack, noting that Ashley was already one step ahead and had hers already slung over shoulder.

"You're damn right we do!" Ashley hollered as she stepped free from the airplane's edge. _Not dead, definitely not in the tower and I'm gonna live, we can make it!_

"Come on, let's, let's get the hell out of here!" Paul said as he found himself in step behind Ashley.

"Poor bastards," Ashley said as she began to run, "just came in greedy not knowing what they were getting into, just came out here and they-"

"Wait," Paul said as he grabbed Ashley by the shoulder, "listen!"

Over the next burst of fire Ashley listened over the echoing and wind. There was yelling, a boy's voice.

"Get down, Jesus, get down!" he yelled off in the distance.

"Carter..." Ashley said as she quickly changed course. Reaching to the sheath she'd strapped to her leg, she quickly brought up her sawed-off shotgun and held it ready for action.

"Come on, we gotta help them!" she hollered as she waved to Paul and disappeared into the tall grass. Paul could only look on with concern and a fair amount of fear. _You did everything you could to avoid conflicts like this, no avoiding it now..._

Ducking down as he pulled Lexie's pistol from his belt, Paul quickly followed Ashley into the protection that the tall grass offered.

* * *

Katherine felt Carter knocking her to the ground into a clump of chest high grass as Marie let loose with her first barrage of Uzi fire. _It all, just, it happened so fast. Marie snuck up on them like it was nothing, she just, came out of the grass, she came out of the tower, out of the grass and just came after us._

Marie's first strike had been with that hunting rifle, firing one shot that clipped Matt in the shoulder before he even had a chance to see the girl standing in the grass. He cried out in pain before collapsing to the ground, firing blindly with his Walther into the grass enough to scare Marie into ducking and looking for a new hiding hole. Carter had tried to fire a few shots from the hunting rifle, but at best he was clumsy in cocking and reloading it and his aim was not even comparable to Marie.

Lying on her belly, Katherine ducked another volley of Uzi fire, following the source of the sound with her ears the best she could as she aimed her snub-nosed revolver. _Just a little to the left, a little more, just a little more..._

Hoping for the best, Katherine quickly emptied her revolver towards their attacker. A slight pause gave some hope, though that was quickly marred by the dull thud of an explosion not but ten feet to her right. Searing bits of metal traced through the air inches above her as the anti-personnel grenade served its purpose.

"Everyone OK?" Carter asked sharply.

"I'm fine," Katherine said, though reaching behind to address a slight sting she found that a piece of shrapnel had indeed grazed the back of her neck. _Damn it, that's definitely going to leave a scar._

"Good, shit, she shot me in the fucking shoulder," Matt moaned as he began firing blindly and angrily with his pistol, "Come on and fight us like a man you stupid bitch!"

"You all right?" Carter asked again.

"Yeah, tore my strap though," Matt said as he fingered his backpack, "Fuck."

"I got it!" Carter said as he crawled towards the fallen boy and pulled the pack from his good shoulder.

Although she could not see it, Katherine was not blind to the fact that Marie was not only approaching but was damn near at point blank range, firing with the Uzi at such a range that her ears were ringing.

"I'm gonna kick your ass bitch!" a female voice shouted from behind before the booming double blasts of a shotgun echoed across the field. Pellets blasted grass every which way as Marie could clearly be heard running back to the tower in retreat. The light thunder of a semi-automatic pistol following the female voice only caused Marie to run faster, and all too soon the faces matching the voices made themselves clear.

"Ashley, Paul!" Carter hollered, "You're alive!"

"No shit, but we won't be long if we let that bitch go!" Ashley yelled back to him as she grabbed the boy by his windbreaker and pulled him in the direction of the tower, "Come on, if she gets to the top floor and starts firing we're all dead, we gotta take her!"

Not one to need to be told what to do twice and not one looking forward to giving Marie the high ground, Carter slung the remains of Matt's backpack over his shoulder and took off with his rifle. Katherine was not too far behind as Paul kept good position behind her ready for battle. Reaching to the ground, Ashley helped Matt to his feet.

"Wasn't Lexie with you guys?" Matt asked as she helped him stand.

"Yeah," Ashley said a bit sorrowfully, "she didn't make it."

"What?" Matt asked. It... couldn't be, he didn't hear it right. No, not right at all, it was an accident...

"She got hit this morning, didn't make it," Ashley repeated.

Casting his eyes to the sky, Matt wanted to scream. All he'd done, all he'd suffered for in life and here on the island, it was all for, all for this! All for nothing! _And the love of my life is dead for what? I've gone all around looking for her to just tell her some simple words even if she didn't give a damn, for what? God damn it God, why are you doing this to me? I'm a good person, I try to lead a good life, and everyone, everyone I ever care about gets taken from me? What'd I do to deserve this for Christ's sa-_

"Come on!" Ashley yelled as she jerked Matt by the collar of his hooded sweatshirt, "Fight now, cry later! Come on!"

She pulled Matt on as he stood by nearly numb to the experience, quickly reloading the sawed off shotgun as she kept it balanced under her arm. They kept low, hiding beneath the grass as all fire seemed to stop. Finally reaching the clear they met up with Carter, Katherine and Paul as they stood waiting by the door to take on Marie on her own terms.

"All right, nobody do anything stupid," Carter said, "we're in this too deep, just stay low and shoot her as soon as you see her."

"And don't stop 'til she's down," Paul added, "this girl, she's like crazy horror movie stuff man. If we don't make sure she's down she's just gonna keep on coming and attacking us, ya dig?"

"...right," Carter replied as he placed his shoulder against the door, "On three. One, two... three!"

Heaving all his weight against the flimsy wooden door, Carter fell into the base of the stairwell just in time to see one of Marie's grenades clatter down the stairs and come to a stop before his eyes. He just looked at the explosive dumbstruck, suddenly wishing that he had lacked the Rambo spirit and instead kept things patient... Closing his eyes, Carter just hoped it would be quick...

And instead of a quick death, Paul took a diving leap over Carter and grabbed the explosive, throwing it with all his might through the open doorway as the bomb exploded harmlessly among the grass. The group look on with great surprise as Paul jumped up into the air in celebration.

"And they cut me from softball freshman year, howdya like them apples?" he said with a bit of a laugh, "come on guys, it ain't gonna get any easier than this, keep at it!"

Waving them into the stairwell, Paul took a lead as he lugged his backpack and held Lexie's pistol at the ready. Ashley, Carter and Katherine were shortly behind, while Matt kept up the rear as he seemed to hobble his way up the stairs in a fugue.

Another grenade found its way bouncing down the stairs as the group ascended further, causing Paul to quickly grab it and toss it harmlessly further down the stairs. Marie soon began firing blindly down the stairwell with the Uzi, bouncing bullets off of every conceivable surface except her intended targets. The determined five were not going to make the situation as easy as Lori and Lara had allowed it to be, and given the fact that their combined firepower was almost comparable with Marie's own, the group were not going to let go without a fight.

Looking up to get a view of their bearings, Paul was the first to catch sight of Lori's body as it hung in midair in some strange fashion. _Jesus, this is creepy, like, this is totally out of Suspiria! This chick is fucked up, lemme tell ya..._

"Don't look up!" Paul yelled upon catching sight of the body, "Just keep running like hell guys, we're almost there!"

Breathlessly reaching the top as he raised his pistol high, Paul could see Marie standing in the open doorway to her hideaway before it quickly slammed shut.

"This is it guys!" Paul yelled, "It's now or never!"

* * *

As they rounded the stairway to see the control room's door, Matt already knew that something wasn't right. It was like that feeling he'd get when he was about to fall from his board, that time before the fall when everything seemed to go in slow motion. The door swung open half a foot and Marie's pale white hand snuck through. As quickly as it appeared, it pulled itself back within the door, but not before dropping another one of those accursed grenades. The small device bounced from one stair to the next, each making a distinct clattering noise as it flipped through the air. Deftly as she had done before, Paul made a grab for the explosive so that he could throw it over the banister once more. For some reason though, be it blood or sweat or that she couldn't grab it right, the bomb slipped from his grip and flew through the air. 

"FUCK!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, "GET DOWN!"

They all seemed to stumble about, not quite knowing what to do, like someone watching a car barreling down on them in a sick sort of fear. Matt watched as the grenade landed a few steps down from them and seemed to stop. _At this range, it'll kill us all! If it was like the first, it'll kill us all!_

Staring at the device for what seemed like a year and in reality was probably half a second, Matt knew what he had to do. He couldn't quite explain it, but all of a sudden all the shit that he had gone through in the game seemed to make sense. All the beatings, all the abuse, all the searching. This was what it was all for. This was why he couldn't find her. This was why he was here all along. _Lexie... Dora... I'm sorry._

* * *

Ashley was vaguely aware of the dull thud of the anti-personnel grenade, but having looked away she was more surprised to be pelted with a hot liquid than with chunks of flaming metal. Looking back, she was vaguely aware of the shape of a body that seemed to have been flung against the wall in some grim pattern like a blood angel. What had been human at one time now ceased to exist. No face, body, all just a bright red mess. One arm was clearly torn off and the right half of his torso seemed to have found its place out of some highway road safety video. If it hadn't have been for those ratty pants that seemed surprisingly clean, she would have had no idea that the body she was staring at had been Matt Hunter at one time or another. 

"My god..." Carter uttered.

"Matt!" Katherine cried out.

"Motherfuck..." Ashley said softly before turning her attention to the door, "fucking bitch!"

Seeing the door open another few inches as that same damn hand stuck its way through, Ashley didn't wait for another weapon to show through. She leveled off a shot from her sawed-off and let loose with both barrels. As her blast gouged a large hole in the door, the others followed suit; Paul and Katherine both unloading a succession of shots with their pistols at the wood while Carter clumsily levered the rifle and fired more shots into its side. Bits of wood and dust flew every which way as the door was blown to pieces. As each set to reload, the female's hand stuck the Uzi blindly through the hole that Ashley had blasted with her shotgun and let off a long string of bullets.

For some reason, perhaps it was the fact that she was firing blind, or maybe the favor of some obscure god, none of the bullets even got near any of the group. Ducking and sliding down the harsh, wooden steps, Ashley found herself face to face with Matt's body. Dropping her shotgun to the side, she did her best to prize his few remaining fingers from the handle of the Walther he still grasped tight.

"Jesus!" Paul shrieked as another wave of Uzi rounds echoed and ricocheted through the stairwell. Ashley pressed herself flat against the stairs, praying to God that none of the bullets hit her, and finding herself pleasantly surprised when that actually turned out to be the case. Still, even in death Matt proved to be a stubborn bastard and would not let go. Slightly sickened with what she had to do but with adrenaline taking over, Ashley pulled the switchblade from her pocket.

"Sorry Matt," she said as she sawed the blade across his fingers, freeing the gun in a manner of seconds as the digits fell free with a spurt of blood. Rolling onto her back, she aimed the pistol to the door and focused on the hole her shotgun had blasted moments before. For a fleeting moment, she actually locked eyes with their tormentor as Marie stared through the hole, caught in the act of reloading her weapon.

"Everybody down!" Ashley yelled as she let loose with the pistol.

True, firing while leaning on ones back on a stairwell while partly upside-down is not the most efficient means of firing a gun, and Ashley was willing to admit it after seeing its results. Most of the shots sailed wide, hitting the edge of the door and some bouncing off the concrete ceiling. More than a few however did manage to hit their mark in the blasted hole, and as the pistol clicked empty a silence reigned through the stairwell. Seconds later, the all too familiar thud of a body falling to the floor. _Holy shit... it worked!_

Silence reigned as the four sprawled out in the stairwell. A pin dropping could have been heard had one chosen to listen, but they were all more concerned with the body's drop. Paul was the first to creep on over towards the door, looking through the bullet holes for any sign whatsoever that would indicate that they had succeeded.

Not convinced in the slightest that she had hit her target, Ashley got up from the stairs and stalked her way towards Carter. She'd seen the exchange through the grass earlier, but she was hoping that Carter hadn't ditched it in the fray.

"You still got Matt's pack?" she asked.

"Yeah," Carter replied as he unshouldered and handed it to Ashley, "yeah, I got it."

Looking in the bag, Ashley sifted through the scattered supplies that Matt had acquired. _Dirty, cut shirt, useless. Molotovs, definitely good. Clips, excellent._ Looking at the bottom of the pack and finding a particularly familiar sight, Ashley smiled slightly as she found the joints that Jackson had supplied Matt with earlier. She deftly pocketed them, using the same hand to slam a new clip into the Walther as she continued her rise up the stairs. Looking over her shoulder, she paused as she looked to Carter and Katherine.

"You two get back a bit, if this is a trick, you come running up and help us, if we're gone, you run like hell, you got me?" Ashley said curtly. She only watched Carter's response as the boy nodded rapidly, but given that he didn't need to drag Katherine down the stairs a bit it seemed like she got the jist of things too. Sidling up next to Paul flush against the doorway, Ashley looked the shorter boy in the eyes.

"Dead," Paul said softly as he looked through the holes in the door, "dead I think."

"Yeah, right," Ashley said as she tried to believe it herself. Trying to avert her curiosity and just calm the few nerves she had left, Ashley moved her face flush against the shotgun hole. An empty room. All she could see was a simple, empty room, nothing more, nothing less. Furniture, some guns to the side maybe, but no blood, no body.

"She's not there," Ashley said as she turned to look at Paul, then back to the door, "she's not th-"

As Ashley spoke, the barrel of Marie's hunting rifle lined itself up with the shotgun blast and aimed right between her eyes. Had it not been for her general speed, she would not have been able to get out of it in time as Marie leveled off another of her infamously accurate shots. The booming echo of the rifle at such close range left her ears ringing, while Paul just cried out in fear.

"Ashley!"

"I'm fine!" Ashley yelled back. _It was a fucking trap! _From down on the landing, Ashley watched as Marie thrust the rifle barrel through the shotgun blast in the door and aimed it further down the stairwell. While herself and Paul had the cover of the door to protect them from a well-aimed shot, Carter and Katherine were in full view below. _Shit._

Reaching up, Ashley grabbed the barrel of the rifle and thrust it to the ceiling as Marie fired off another shot. The barrel burned her hand, but she didn't mind, as for the first time they had control over their tormentor. Marie had amazing strength and tried to pull the rifle back through the hole in the door, but her dancer's frame was nothing compared to the muscle Ashley had gained by working underneath cars for the better portion of her life. Righting herself, Ashley engaged in a game of tug-of-war with the gun as the two women battled between the door. With the pistol in her free hand, the Latina looked to Paul and hollered out, "Don't just stand there, shoot that bitch!"

Stunned for a moment, he quickly nodded as he raised Lexie's pistol to the shotgun blast hole in the door and opened up. Holding her own pistol to the hole, Ashley too let loose as they fired shot after shot into Marie's chest and stomach. For once, the woman in the watch tower's strength seemed to disappear as the rifle flew through the hole into Ashley's grip covered in blood.

"We gone in?" Paul asked with wild eyes.

"Wait for it," Ashley said as she unzipped Matt's backpack once more. Pulling free the two Molotov's that Jackson had thoughtfully provided Matt with just two days before, Ashley handed each to Paul. Though his look may first have been one of confusion, it quickly transformed into acknowledgment as he grinned broadly. Ashley pulled the lighter from her pocket and took her time lighting the rags, making sure each had ignited fully before quickly pocketing it once more.

Locking eyes with Paul, Ashley held the pistol high in one hand while snagging one of the Molotov's in her other.

"Wait for it," she repeated as she turned to the door, "OnetwothreeGO!"

With a swift kick to the bullet-ridden door, Ashley and Paul quickly entered the room with weapons held high. Despite having been shot nearly a dozen times, Marie still stood on unsteady legs and posed as much a threat as ever. She was covered in blood and had a wild look to her face as she raised her silenced pistol to shoot at the intruders. No longer willing to take any shit Ashley shot Marie in the wrist, blasting bits of flesh and bone clean through her arm and dotting the ancient air traffic control equipment. Without missing a beat, the Latina threw her Molotov to the ground at Marie's feet, engulfing the lower half of the ballet dancer in flames. Just a step behind, Paul threw his Molotov at an angle that made it shatter clean across Marie's chest.

As the flames consumed her body and began to spread further across the room, Marie's great strength finally gave way. Fire eating its way clear to the bone, she fell to the ground in a writhing mess.

"Wow," Paul managed to blurt out.

"Yeah, that was rough," Ashley replied as she watched the fire grow and expand.

"No, I mean," Paul continued, trying to find the words, "she didn't scream. Didn't even groan. I've seen people die here, that's not right man, not right, no, that's not-"

With one final burst of energy, Marie sat straight up from the ground as flames still surrounded her body, firing off wild, blind shots that hit the wall and didn't come close to either Paul or Ashley. Nevertheless, the pair ducked as they were attacked for the last time, as the flames finally subdued the dancer.

"Just like the movies..." Paul said with wide-eyed shock, "Should we finish her off?"

"You wanna get close enough to try?" Ashley asked. Staring back, Paul adamantly shook his head.

"Then gimme your grenades and tell Carter and Katherine to get the hell out of here, I gotta settle something, aight?"

Complying with the Latina's request, Paul handed her his belt of three remaining grenades before running out of the room at top speed. With fire beginning to swirl through the room, Ashley carefully laid down her pack next to Matt's. She emptied the remaining clips he had stashed for the pistol and his water bottles into her own bag before zipping it up and shouldering it for her flight. Contemplating the belt of grenades, she did her best to try and stare the dying (or already dead, she couldn't quite tell) body of Marie Cooper.

"You killed Jacob and Lexie and all those others and sent me and Paul through hell," Ashley said as she pulled the pin on one of the grenades, "I don't know how hell can be much worse than what you're going through right now, but I hope you got it bad where you're goin."

Grabbing the belt, Ashley swung it and tossed it past Marie and into her supply of ammunition and explosives. Then running like hell, Ashley just hoped to God that they'd all be able to avoid the explosion. _We got a boat to catch, this'd be about as bad a time as any to die of something stupid..._

* * *

For some reason beyond explanation, Marie still had not died. Already more than ninety percent of her body had been consumed by flames, and each breath brought her closer and closer to a painful, choking death. The bullets would have already been fatal, but she was still unconcerned with the matter. Only one thought, one word kept repeating in her mind. _Julliard... Julliard... Julliard, those bastards, those servile pieces of filth, I'll never be able to go like this! They'll never accept a cripple!_

Looking to the ceiling as she finally inhaled fire, Marie was faintly aware of the belt of grenades flying and landing on top of her box of grenades a matter of feet away. _I'll never be able to go to Julliard like this, I'm not, Jesus, I can't go to Julliard like this! My name, it won't be, nobody will know me! I can't believe, I can't believe they'd do this to me!_

Had Marie's tear ducts not already been charred away, she probably would have cried. Instead, her grenades combined with Paul's and the already growing ball of fire transformed one of the Battle Royale's greatest players into pieces of burnt flesh and bone no larger than a postage stamp.

* * *

"Is everyone all right?" Carter asked as the four lay in a heap at the bottom of the stairwell. For a series of small hand explosives, the blast was surprisingly large. It blew out a large chunk of the wooden stairway that they had sprawled out on, sending the four survivors along with the remains of Matt and the hanging body of Lori rolling down the stairs and eventually to the ground below. 

"I'm cool," Paul replied with a cough.

"Me too," Ashley said as she wiped a thin trickle of blood from the edge of her mouth.

"That makes... four of us," Katherine replied she caught her breath, then looking on with definite fear as she tried to avert her eyes from the remains of Matt.

"Well, we have to get going," Carter interjected as he arched the pain out of his back, "we have to get back in two hours or else we're screwed. We're behind here, and, and we have to go. We have to go now or else we're stuck here."

"Then let's get this show on the road!" Paul said as he got to his feet, offering a free hand to each of his downed friends as they tried to get their bearings. Helping Katherine to her feet last, he practically had to pull her through the door to keep her from looking at Matt's mangled corpse.

Finding his breath hard to catch after the battle, Carter looked to the mud and blood spattered Ashley with certain relief. It was hard not to look at the corpses of the boy and girl on the ground, but for some reason Ashley still managed to make him crack half a smile.

"You dropped this," Carter said as he tossed the girl her sawed-off shotgun.

"Thanks," she said as she quickly cocked and reloaded the weapon, "I'd have missed it if you didn'a get it."

"Yeah... Hey Ash?" he blurted out.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"It's... it's good to see you," Carter admitted.

"Yeah," Ashley responded honestly as she walked over to Lori's remains, "you too. You got another weapon?"

"What?" Carter asked, surprised from by the question.

"We're all running low on ammo here," she said, "us and the rest of them if things are going like they're going. It's gonna get down to hand to hand soon and if we meet anyone along the way I don't want any of us to be caught off guard."

Putting a foot on Lori's ribcage, Ashley grabbed the handle of the ax that Marie had embedded in her chest and ripped it free. Rotating the dulled and bloodied weapon in her hand, she tossed it to Carter as he clumsily caught it in midair.

"It ain't fresh, but it'll get the job done," she admitted.

"Hopefully it won't come down to that," Carter replied with a smile, even though he was more than a bit hesitant about carrying a murder weapon. Balancing it on his shoulder while letting the Dora's rifle drop low in his right hand, he looked to Ashley with a forced smile.

"Come on, let's get the hell out of here."


	64. Hour 59: 11 Contestants Remaining

Hour 59

11 Contestants Remaining

"He is all around us at all times, even though we may choose to close our eyes to His presence," the street preacher loudly proclaimed as he stood on his old wooden box of peaches, "and when it comes to our time of reckoning, only those who accept the Lord into their hearts will find salvation."

Despite his loud, booming voice and commanding attitude, the passersby along the sidewalk paid the street preacher no heed. Maybe it was because he sounded like a lunatic, maybe it was the eye patch, or perhaps it was because he only had one leg and balanced the other half of his body on a mop, but nobody was really willing to believe the old man's words.

"Cast your blind eye to me," he said with a rasping laugh, "but you will all pay for it in due time. Look to me and listen for I spread His word, I spread his mercy but I also spread his wrath. God is great, God will see that all those who deserve a spot at his side get it, but he will also make sure that those who require a vile end will receive that end and will have a hard time of it."

He sputtered off into a coughing fit that contained god only knew how many diseases and bacterium nesting within it before raising a fist to the sky while raining down more hellfire.

"You might see yourself as innocent, but until you accept him into your heart you are all lost souls, all lost, yes. Nobody is pure, nobody is truly innocent unless they are among the truly righteous."

Still looking about and finding not a passerby to pay attention, the man wildly stuck his arms out to the sky.

"What do you think, that when it comes to the time of your judgment that you will get a free pass to the great beyond simply because you may believe you lead a good life, because you do not. You think you do, but you do not. There is no good life without Him, and if you do not accept Him, if you do not bow down and submit to His will, then you will find out for yourself. When you reach the fiery pits within the depths of hell, when your flesh is torn by the flaming hooks while maggots burrow from out of your stomach, you will understand your error while the righteous sit back and laugh from their place of glo-"

"HEY OLD MAN!" the voice yelled from across the street. A large black man with a butcher's apron covering his pot belly, a scraggly beard and a balding head ran through the traffic as he made his way towards the street preacher's perch.

"YEAH, I'M TALKIN TO YOU OLD MAN!" he practically screamed as he dodged cars like a rampaging beast, "YOU FUCKING SNUCK INTO MY DAUGHTER'S ROOM AND RAPED HER YOU SACK OF SHIT!"

"This man knows not what he speaks of!" the street preacher proclaimed as the passersby on the sidewalk began taking more of an interest in his plight, "I neither know of his daughter nor of her unfortunate!"

"BULLSHIT!" the black man yelled as he pulled free a meat tenderizer from his belt and approached the street preacher's box, "You're the only one-eyed crazy guy without a leg around and I'm gonna fuck you up like you fucked her up man."

Falling from his box as the angry man got within arms reach, the street preacher did his best to amble away down the sidewalk with mop in hand. No match for the speed of the large black man, he soon fell to the ground as the mop was knocked from his hands.

"Please oh Lord, deliver me from this angry man's wrath! I do not deserve what he has accused me of!"

"Shut up with this God shit," the black man said as he kicked the street preacher in his stomach, "he don't give a damn about you you servile piece of shit. You want your holy fire, I'll give it to ya!"

"Deliver me oh lord from the hands of this demon!" the street preacher pleaded as the black man lifted his meat tenderizer overhead, "Deliver me, deliver me from this evil!"

No salvation came for the street preacher as the black man repeatedly pummeled him with the tenderizer. Dozens of people stood around in silent horror as the black man pummeled the crazed preacher into submission, each dull thud against flesh and crack of bone getting a new wince from the gathered audience. Not once did anyone try and do anything to stop the attack, not once did anyone cry out for help. Be it the will of God or the sheer fear of a deer caught in headlights, nobody from the crowd once stepped forward to stop the bloody murder happening before their very eyes.

"FREEZE!" the police officer yelled at the top of his lungs. With that word the man stopped and the crowd parted, allowing the officer to draw his revolver with perfect aim.

"DROP YOUR WEAPON AND PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!" the young officer said with a quaking voice as he held his revolver high.

"He... he hurt my baby!" the enraged and blood-spattered man said as he let the meat tenderizer drop slightly to his side, "He... he hurt her!"

"I SAID DROP YOUR WEAPON AND PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD NOW!" the young officer shouted even louder as the gun shook visibly in his hand, "IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY I WILL HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE THAN TO USE DEADLY FORCE!"

"He hurt my baby!" the black man yelled, "He took... he didn't have a right, he HAD NO RIGHT! HE HURT HER!"

Lifting the meat tenderizer over his head he took a step forward just in time to catch two heavy bullets square in the chest. Dropping to the ground like a bag of cement, the dead black man lay sprawled out over the street preacher's remains. In a moment, the twitching stopped, and the pair of dead, blood-drenched men lay in a grotesque, passionate embrace as the crowd looked on in silent shock. In a matter of less than two minutes the scene had gone from one of apathy towards the ravings of a local madman to the grim silence that followed two grisly murders.

And having watched all that went down and listened to every word that came from the street preacher's mouth as if it were the gospel, the small and frail six-year-old girl took another lick from her ice cream cone with a completely different view of how the world worked.

* * *

"Motherfuck," Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23, said with great agitation as he surveyed the wreckage, "I mean, fuck, fucker just came down and it fucking, it just fucked, just cleared right through and, I mean, fucking fuck!" 

Katie Snyder, a.k.a. Girl # 2, retreated from her memories as she looked to her counterpart with more than a little disdain.

"Well that certainly demonstrates the versatility of the word," she said with only the slightest irony. Part of her cracked a smile at the turn of events, while the rest of her absolutely hated what had happened. For the longest time she had been averse to bad language, leaving it to the vulgar and sinful masses to claim as their own. She would look upon them in disdain like the tainted that they were, and yet within the company of Joel she found her views changing. Even she was changing in the company of someone as wicked yet blessed as Joel. There was something, something she did not know about him that she could feel... something better than she had ever known. It was as if he pulled the energy from the crucifix around his neck and channeled it into the righteous fury that he laid down upon all those who got in his way, and more than anything else Katie found herself admiring him. _The blessed and righteous are under His protection unless they give him reason not to, but the pair of us have been keeping the peace, we have been doing His will and making good on our promise to purify and get rid of those who go against His will. Joel may not be perfect, but he's still one of the protected, he's still one of the blessed, he's still among the righteous..._

"FUCK!" he yelled once more in frustration. ..._that still doesn't mean he may not be a complete and total imbecile, not by a long shot._

"I do not believe the pilot was intending to crash into our former refuge, if that is what you're cursing about," Katie said calmly as she sifted through some of the wreckage with her foot.

"No, well he did," Joel said as he kicked a piece of wing to the side, "and we ain't got no place to hide no more until the end of this thing, now I mean I know we can handle ourselves but I'm thinking some asshole could sneak up on us still and just go BAM, BAM, BAM we're all gone ya know and I can't stand that myself personally."

"Your furor is only matched by your hubris," Katie said with half a laugh as she looked to the ground.

"What's that, you calling me a Nazi now?" Joel said defensively as he sidled up his shotgun, "Just because I'm Italian don't make me a Nazi."

"Nothing, nothing," Katie said with an even wider smile as she kept herself on the verge of bursting out in full on laughter, "just one of those rare moments when I'm glad present company scored dismally on the SAT's."

"You bein smart with me girly?" Joel asked threateningly.

"You've got that right," Katie said as she kept her back turned to him, "and if you're planning on shooting me, remember that I'm a much faster and better shot than you could ever hope to be so I'd advise you to lay down your weapon as soon as possible. I would be rather remiss if I let another of the righteous fall by my own hands, now wouldn't I?"

"I got no idea what you just said," Joel responded as he angled his shotgun downwards, "but I think I get you. Just, just letting steam out 'cause I got no other way how I can."

Turning her attention away from Joel, Katie surveyed the scene. The airplane... that ill advised banner airplane proclaiming how much Joel was beloved by America, it had been shot down and rightfully so above the island so everyone could see. Wreckage had been strewn across the island, but the vast majority of the small plane's fuselage had plowed into the Officer's Quarters and turned the building into a smoldering wreck. It knocked clear through the center, leaving walls and rooms along the edges still standing, while fuel spilled from its tank gutted much of the building with flames. Looking to the vultures overhead, Katie vocalized what had been going through her head since catching sight of the small plane's wreckage.

"We should be dead," Katie said softly as she bent down and picked up a torn piece of metal, "we were supposed to be in here waiting it out until the final hours, but we were not."

"Shit," Joel said as the thought finally hit him, "you're right. Damn lucky, we're all damn lucky."

"Luck didn't have anything to do with this," Katie shot back rather sternly.

"Well, we were outside of the building when the plane crashed into it, I'd say that makes us pretty damn lucky," Joel replied bluntly.

"It's a sign..." Katie said as the situation began to materialize in her head, "this... He... He made this happen to make sure we survived."

"I'm not following," Joel responded with genuine confusion.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Katie said with a great amount of glee as it all became oh so clear in her head, "we are special here, I knew it before and I'm all but positive of it now. If we weren't, we'd have been killed, it all makes sense, it all makes, absolutely, it makes absolutely perfect sense now!"

"WHAT?" Joel asked angrily, "WHAT MAKES SENSE?"

"We should be dead," Katie responded simply.

"You said that already," Joel replied, "and if we're gonna keep turning things in circles here it ain't gonna do any of us no good."

"Look," Katie slowed down, "if we had been in this building when the plane crashed into it, we would most certainly have been killed, correct?"

"Yeah, that's right, like some 9/11 shit," Joel confirmed.

"For lack of a better word, yes," Katie continued with greater animation, "but we were out of the building. We were out because we heard that gunfight to the north, we heard the battle, we heard them fighting for all they were worth, Nicotero and Drake if the timing is correct, we heard them fight and we heard them die and we made a run on their position because we thought we could get them. We thought we could get them and whatever weapons they possessed. But, we didn't make it too far. We made it close, we made it almost all the way but we didn't make it all the way."

"Yeah, 'cause you said we oughta turn back and check out this whole plane wild goose chase," Joel interjected with irritation."

"Yes, that is correct," Katie continued with eyes growing wilder by the second, "we had to know, we had to confirm that this, our safe haven, was still intact. We had to make sure that once our battle was fought that we had a place that we could fall back on, a place to catch our breath so to speak for the battles to come. With the direction that we saw the plane fall I knew we had to make sure that this place was all right, and that is when He saved us a second time."

"We're in his good enough graces to get saved a second time?" Joel asked with a bit of a laugh, "This I gotta hear."

"Well you'd hear it even if you didn't want to because I'm going to say it and I've got a bigger gun than you, but that's beside the point," Katie said as she continued even more rapidly, "the plane it made us come here. The plane, He set it here, He made sure it would crash here, He made sure we would worry about our hideaway so that we would come to check it out. Because we were here, we missed out on that firefight we just heard."

"I thought we were looking for guns though," Joel responded a bit angrily, "guns mean people right? And the more people we kill the better our chances of surviving this thing, right?"

"That is correct, under certain circumstances," Katie continued, "and blessed though we may be, there were at least six different guns that I could identify, one of them most definitely an automatic and several more which were more than likely of a stronger caliber. Then the explosions, if we were to get caught in that, our chances for survival would have been minimal. Even with our unique skills, even with our advanced firepower, we more than likely could not have matched the force of such guns and explosives as that. The first fight led us from the building, the plane led us back and kept us out of a gun battle I do not believe we could have been a match for."

"Luck, pure and simple," Joel said simply, "it just all seems too random, it just doesn't seem like it's got enough planning to be part of some huge plan like this. I don't know where this all fits in, I mean, yeah, God's a cool dude in my book, but... fuck. I don't know how to say it but you know what I'm getting at, right?"

"I know what you say, and I know that there may be times when it is hard to believe, but you must never lose faith. If you lose that faith then there is no reason to survive and you might as well place yourself among the wicked," Katie added rather coldly.

"You ever lose this faith you got?" Joel inquired as he looked through the wreckage. Focusing on the vultures that circled lazily overhead and one by one began to swoop towards the ground, he moved through a patch of burnt grass and sidled on over close to the building.

Katie sighed, "I've had it tested like any other. I've had my faith, my life, my existence and reason come into question with what seemed to be accidents, what seemed to be circumstances beyond what even the lord himself can create, but in the end I prevailed. I never lost hope, I never lost faith."

"So he will guide us to what we gotta do next?" Joel asked again as he got closer to the birds landing zone.

"He always has," Katie replied, "in times where all seemed to be down He has always delivered a sign, always told me where I shall go next. He will continue this time, he will, he must, he has never let me down, _never!_ There _must_ be a sign!"

"Motherfuckers..." Joel muttered towards something entirely unrelated from Katie's tirade, "Get the hell out of here!"

Katie was startled back into the real world as Joel quickly fired off two booming blasts from his shotgun. Although the first didn't seem to hit much of anything besides the ground, the second blast quickly killed one of the vultures as it stumbled about on the ground in its last throes of life. The remaining birds took off in flight, and although they were easy targets as they flapped about on their ground and tried to run away, the lack of ammunition in Joel's shotgun prevented him from firing any more.

"What are you doing?" Katie accused as she ran up next to Joel, "You reveal our position!"

"Bastards, they're just... bastards," Joel said as he directed Katie's line of sight to the ground at his feet. There lay what used to be Karen Peterson, a.k.a. Girl # 10 on the floor. She'd been dead for more than a day already, her fat and extremely muscled body bloated from the sun and the rain. Although she had broken her neck in the fall, it appeared as if she'd been attacked by some wild animal given the extent of the horrendous wounds to her arms, legs and torso. In an almost bloodless menagerie, her belly had been spilled open and ripped down to the most basic of tissues, her face was already gone with eye sockets two gaping black holes, and her right arm was nearly gnawed down to the bone.

"You mourn for your friend?" Katie asked as she braced the rifle against her shoulder.

"No, I fucking hate what the birds are doin to her, it's just damn disrespectable," Joel replied suddenly, storming away from Karen's corpse as he quickly slung the shotgun over his shoulder and put a cigarette between his lips. With the lighter shaking between his fingers, Joel did his best to ignite the tip. _You're not creeped out, it's just a body, you didn't just freak out, you didn't just waste a coupla shells, just, yeah, just keep cool._

"They're carrion birds," Katie replied simply as she cast her eyes towards the retreating birds as they flew away, "it's what they do. You cannot fault an animal for acting how it must..."

She trailed off as she watched one of the birds alight quickly on a tree branch and continue along its path. It knocked free what at first appeared to be a piece of the plane wreckage, but soon showed itself to be the banner that it had once towed. Sure, most of it had been burned away, but Katie's eyes widened as it all made sense. It all fell into place... Where it once read 'AMERICA hearts U JOEL! WIN TI ALL!', only five letters remained on the long piece of fabric as it fluttered from the tree's limb.

h

s

U

O

T

"Joel," Katie said as she tried to grab the wrestler's attention, "JOEL!"

"What?" he asked with distinct irritation as he took a puff from the crappy foreign cigarette between his lips.

"I know where we have to go now," Katie said as she brought the AK-47 into a defensive position in her hands, "It's a crude anagram but I know where we must go, there is no time to waste, hurry!"

"Wait, what's going on?" Joel yelled to the girl as he tried to keep up with the seemingly obsessed library girl, "What the hell is going on?"

"A sign, the sign I told you about, I found it... We must go to it, I found it..."


	65. Hour 60: 11 Contestants Remaining

Hour 60

11 Contestants Remaining

With a crackling and metallic squeal, the strategically placed loudspeakers around the island let loose with the third and final noon announcement that the third annual Battle Royale would receive. Laughing a dry and hoarse laugh, JJ Squalls broke in over the static with a slightly angry tone.

"Hey everybody, well, everybody that's left. That's eleven of you, right? Shit I gotta stop drinking, but then again, what the hell am I worrying about? Not like you guys really care. At any rate I gotta say this one's a new one on me. You out there, you all really pissed off a lot of people. I mean, this is America, it's really hard to piss people off, but, well, one of the last kills really did it. Actually come to think of it it's not that hard to piss people off. At any rate, here's your friends in the order that they died for the last six hours."

With the sound of him taking another long swig and slamming the bottle down next to his microphone, JJ began the count anew.

"First to die was none other than Girl # 20, Lexie Hawk, shot in the leg by our good friend Miss Marie Cooper and bled a slow and probably agonizing death. Good for her. Boy # 15, Matt Hunter was the next to go after taking a cowardly dive onto one of Marie's hand grenades to 'save' his friends. Jesus people, this is a life or death competition where only one person's gonna get out alive, sacrificing yourself for anyone unless they can help you win is just damn ignorant. Ignorant I say! At any rate, it's the last death that really got the audiences and the big wigs up here in a tizzy. Fan favorite, Girl # 21, Marie Cooper was, well, for lack of a better word blown to pieces by Ashley and Paul. I know you guys have killed already and don't seem to have a problem doing it but it damn near got you killed. People were so pissed off, _so_ pissed off about what you did to Marie that they were threatening to riot if we didn't just blow up your belts. But, we gassed them up nice and proper, hung a couple, that shut 'em up real good. Still, no one's getting a prize this round because people are generally pissed off, so thank your lucky stars that that's all that's gonna happen to ya instead of having yourselves blown in half."

With a loud and resonating belch, he continued.

"Now I know that there's eleven of you left and it's bound to slow things down a bit but that's no excuse to slow things down! Twelve hours left, things are coming down to the wire. Twelve hours and you'll all be blown up, so I'd recommend you guys start shooting each other real fast and real soon if you get my drift. Until then, I'm signing off until six, here's some music to kill by..."

With the crackling of a needle being placed on perhaps the most ancient record within the DJ's collection, his next song choice began with an oddly placed rattling of chains and the lyrics of a surprisingly familiar, if horrendously misplaced, novelty song.

"_I was working in the lab late one night,_

_When my eyes beheld an eerie sight,_

_For my monster from his slab began to rise,_

_And suddenly, to my surprise,_

_He did the mash-"_

With a jarring scratch, the sound of the record being ripped from the player and being thrown across the room with a loud shattering could be heard.

"Sorry about that, wrong record," JJ muttered over the loudspeakers, "greatest hits my ass, fucking one hit wonder. Here's the real song, hope it might make you all think about your time runnin out ya know?"

With a quick and repeating bass line the next song began, and despite what more than a few viewers and even contestants may have believed, it had absolutely nothing to do with the artist formerly known as Vanilla Ice.

"_Pressure pushing down on me_

_Pressing down on you no man ask for_

_Under pressure_

_That burns a building down_

_Splits a family in two_

_Puts people on streets_

_It's the terror of knowing_

_What this world is about_

_Watching some good friends_

_Screaming let me out!_

_Pray tomorrow takes me higher_

_Pressure on people_

_People on streets_

_Chippin' around_

_kick my brains round the floor_

_These are the days_

_It never rains but it pours_

_People on streets..._

_People on streets..._

_Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking_

_Why Can't we give ourselves one more chance?_

_Why can't we give love give love give love?_

_Cause love's such an old fashioned word_

_And love dares you to care_

_For the people on the edge of the night_

_And love dares you to change our way_

_Of caring about ourselves_

_This is our last dance _

_This is our last dance..."_

* * *

"It's time," Doug Rodgers, a.k.a. Boy # 2 said grimly as he balanced the shovel against his shoulder. Barricaded in the darkness of the meat locker along with the remaining three members of SABRE, he'd patiently watched the minutes count down on the glow in the dark face of his watch. _Wait for Carter and the rest, just another few minutes, the whole bunch of you will escape together. That or at least they'll make the revolution a damn sight easier and you'll get out of here safe, right? Well, it's too late now..._

"I still think we ought to wait a bit longer for them," Michael Baxter, a.k.a. Boy # 21, "There's still four of them out there!"

"Yeah, and they also know the plan," Doug responded, "if they survive their jaunt away from the airfield then they're going to be headed down towards the harbor, not here. We'd miss them entirely, remember?"

"I do, I know," Michael replied, "but let's face the facts, there's four of us here, only three of us who are good to do any fighting, and maybe then only one of us who's actually going to stand a chance against these soldiers. No offense Doug, Jenny, but we're pretty much relying on Bo here to do it all."

"That's bullshit and you know it," the girl snapped back as she dragged her scavenged meat hook along the wall with a metallic squeal.

"What's that?" Michael asked.

"You know you'd be surprised what people can do when they have the proper motivation," Jenny Reese, a.k.a. Girl # 11, replied from the darkness, "I know I may not look like much but right now I feel like I can rip the government in half with my bare hands. Anna, Naomi, Lindsay, Sky, they got 'em all but me. I'm tiny, but I'm also more determined than I think they bargained for anyone to get. Big burly soldier men won't know what they get when I ram this rusty hunk of metal into their guts and spill 'em all over the floor."

Tracing the rusted meat hook against the metal wall of the locker, Jenny spoke up once more, "And I'm going to get out of here. We all are, but if... if they manage to get the upper hand on us I want to make sure to shove this up their asses while I can still breath."

"Amen to that lass," Bo Adrian, a.k.a. Boy # 11 laughed from the darkness, "Amen to that."

"So you've got no problem balancing this whole operation on your shoulders?" Michael asked pleadingly. _Just see the light people, please, know that we can't do this on our own! We need the numbers, they'll be here and around soon, they'll stop by here first before going onto the harbor, I know it!_

"Me?" Bo asked, "Yeah, I can do it. I wouldn't count out all of what we can do, but we all don't have much of a choice besides it, ya savvy?"

"Besides," Doug interjected quickly before Michael could get a chance to respond, "they wanted us to become savages. They wanted to make us fight, they wanted to make us into killers, and they're all counting on us to be more brutal than any of us are would want to be in life. Don't you just want to make them proud?"

"This isn't about resorting to savagery, this is about avoiding it," Michael pleaded, "that was what Anna was all about. She knew how to pull off an operation like this, she knew how to organize. She wouldn't have led us into a suicide mission like this."

"This whole thing is a suicide mission," Doug replied bluntly, "only if we do not treat it with the greatest of care, but that's what we're doing. If we haven't been preparing these last two days than I would most certainly say it would be a suicide mission, but right now, I'd say we're about the biggest, badass motherfuckers around and I wouldn't want to be those army guys for much of anything right now."

Looking to their faces in the dim light of the meat locker (even Michael who had seemed to mellow down a bit), Doug did his best to force a smile. _You've had your chance to kick this around, but now it's time, now it's time to say what you have to say to get them ready. It'd certainly be nicer to say it with more people, but take what you can get..._

"Look guys," Doug continued solemnly, "this is it. We've been working on this for two days now, we've had our losses, but it's now or never time. We need to be together, because it's up to us now. It's up to the four of us to pull something off that's never been tried, well, at least has never been tried successfully, but they didn't know what we know. They didn't have the planning and preparation we do, but we're going to do this. We're going to pull this off, it's time, and we're going to make this escape. I need to know right now... are you all still good for this? Really, we have no choices now, no backing out, we do this now or never. Are you with me?"

A brief moment of silence reigned supreme over the room as Doug's words drifted slowly into the quiet. Feeling the need to break the moment, Bo lifted his sledgehammer from the floor and lifted it to the ceiling.

"I'm in this one to the end guys," Bo said optimistically, "to the end."

"If it takes me to hell and back, I'm with you Doug," Jenny said with the slightest glimmer of hope. All eyes turned to Michael as he remained the voice of dissent. For his part, the boy of the sling and pink and purple dyed hair sat against the wall of the meat locker with hesitant eyes. _They're going after this for all the wrong reasons, they're just rushing into something they can't understand, but this is all of our lives they have in their hands. The three... the lives of all good souls on this island depend on those three._ Groping about on the floor with his good hand, Michael found another of the rusted meat hooks and lifted it into the air.

"You can count on my steel, for whatever that's worth," he said as he held his weapon out hopefully, "I may not be able to do much, but I do this for peace."

Smiling back to the person he'd been afraid of alienating the most the most, Doug lifted his aged shovel and placed it against Michael's hook, "I do this for survival."

Responding in kind as he lifted his hammer into the arranged weapons, Bo added, "I do this 'cause I don't want to die on this godforsaken island."

Looking to the trio of boys a bit solemnly, Jenny sighed and put her hook into the mix, "I do this for Anna."

"Good words," Doug replied as he forced a smile, _time to rally the troops,_ "Those of us who survive this day will wear our scars proudly. Come on guys, we're here, we're ready, and we're gonna do this, right? Just say it loud and say it proud, we're gonna do this, RIGHT?"

"We're gonna do this!" the trio he addressed all managed to get out in one way shape or form.

"Oh come on I've seen us all get more enthusiastic at one of those crappy pep rallies, let me here you again, WE'RE GONNA DO THIS!"

"WE'RE GONNA DO THIS!" the trio responded with more energy.

"WHO ARE WE?" Doug yelled.

"SABRE!" the group yelled in return as they all thrust their weapons into the air. Doug looked to his assembled troops with more than a bit of pride. _You've rallied them, you've gotten them on your side. Excellent. Now comes the hard part._

* * *

"DAMAGE OF BATTLE ROYALE EQUIPMENT IS IN STRICT VIOLATIONS OF SET RULES! THIS IMMEDIATE AREA WILL BECOME A DANGER ZONE! YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS! HAVE A NICE DAY!" 

Pvt. Briscoe could think of no words he hated more. Well, maybe if someone called him a fag, that's a word he'd have liked to hear next, but anything that got them out of the safety of the base... those he hated.

They'd done it again. Those damn kids who thought they could beat the game and thought they had a foolproof plan of escape like nobody ever tried that before, they just kept on busting the cameras and messing with the system. _Messing with the system and making us look like idiots! Make us look like idiots and have Olderham rag on me some more, no way, not again. Why these kids gotta keep messing with us like they do? We could just stay back at base, base's nicer. Base has women._

THUNK!

Sitting in the back of his crew's patrol boat, the soldier leaned against the boat house with a skin magazine. Hearing the noise against the boat's hull, the boy was roused from his imaginary gropefest to look around with some confusion. _What the hell was that? Fucking Fisk parked us too close to the shore again, run us up against some rocks and we're gonna be stranded here. I'm gonna be stranded here and Olderham's gonna have all our asses._

Sighing, the soldier retreated back to his pornographic reading material. _People are dyin out there and you're thinking about whackin off over there, that can't be healthy, right? Hey, Miss September likes pouring whipped cream in her-_

THUNK!

"Oh now what the hell is that?" he asked in frustration.

Stirring from his seat as the sound rung against the boat's metal hull once more, Briscoe set his skin magazine on the floor with great irritation. _Shit, hunk of seaweed, pissed off sea turtle, ocean's so full of shit what good is any of it? Let's just nuke it all, save us all a lot of trouble._

Lifting his rifle from the floor, the soldier ambled over to the edge of the boat and peered over to take a look into the sea. The sight caught him a bit off guard and caused a more than audible gasp, but given all he'd seen over the last couple of days this was hardly a true surprise.

It was a body.

She was blonde by the looks of it, floating face down in the surf, her head clanging up against the hull with every surge in the surf.

THUNK!

_Stupid bitch got herself drowned. Gotta get her out, get her out before we start the engine up again, start it up and chop her up and jam up our engine when the boss man'll take it out on you._ Taking the barrel of his rifle, Briscoe pressed it against the edge of the girls torso in an effort to push her away. In doing so, he flipped the body onto her back. Staring into her vacant, sightless eyes he tried to look elsewhere so as to not have the vision burned into his memory. _Pretty good tits for a dead chick, nice lips too._

Looking almost pitifully at the girls face for just a moment longer, the soldier found a sense of confusion wash over him. _Those eyes... something not right with those eyes..._ As she rolled against the next wave, head bouncing off the side of the boat once more, the girls eyes rotated and focused in on the startled soldier.

"Jesus Christ!" he yelled out in sheer surprise. With startling speed that neither afforded him the chance to react or to shoulder his M-16, Jenny sprung forth from the water and swung the solid iron meat hook she'd concealed against her arm in a long arc. The metal buried itself a good six inches into the soldier's stomach as he cried out in pain.

"Oh God!" he cried out as the pain caused him to drop his rifle, "Please, someone help! God!"

Rotating her body so her feet pressed against the boat's hull, Jenny twisted the hook with a massive gush of blood as she buried the weapon further in the soldier's gut and tried to pull him overboard. With remarkable strength, the determined soldier held his own despite wavering strength and cried out even louder.

"Please God Almighty help me!" he yelled as Jenny pulled even harder and blood seeped through his lips, "Please!"

With a sickening thud, Briscoe's pleas were quieted as Bo snuck up behind the soldier and caved in the back of his skull with the sledgehammer. With the soldier still standing and twitching, the boy brained the man once again as bits of bone and flesh mixed with blood in a slurry of gore that sprayed every which way. After the third hit, the soldier finally fell over the edge and into the water a bloody mess.

"Damn," Bo said as he looked to the bloodied head of his weapon. _That's it, you've just gone and murdered a man. You murdered a man in cold blood, no turning back now. No turning back, no, you did it..._

Climbing aboard the boat before the Brit, Doug quickly put two fingers in front of his mouth. _Silence! They can still hear us!_ Though unable to read his mind, Bo caught the body language with certain ease. Going in line with the plan, Bo reached over the side deftly pulled the bloodied Jenny up onto the boat. Making a beeline to the other side, he reached over and pulled Michael up by his good arm.

Searching around the boat's cabin with several of the Polaroid pictures that Anna had taken, Doug looked around desperately. _Where are they, where are they, they're supposed to be around here, this is the same boat, these are the same guys, it'll be around here still won't it? Won't it? Success! Yes, I am invincible!_

Looking to the rack framed against the wall, Doug could see them clear as day. Four of them on a rack, looking like cattle prods but with a different funny sort of plug in the end. _Later, first down to business..._ Searching the various compartments within the cabin, Doug found a spare laptop and quickly brought it up onto the counter. He grasped at one of the Polaroid's again, trying to double check a radio hookup. _It's there, yeah, there we go..._ He deftly plugged the computer into the boat's transmitter, turning it on and waiting what seemed like an eternity for it to boot up.

_Fucking hourglass, STOP SPINNING AND LET ME ON!_

Logging on as soon as it booted up, Doug became aware of the three pairs of eyes looking over his shoulder. They were waiting, but they'd have to wait a bit longer... Booted up completely, Doug let loose with a maelstrom of keystrokes that would have been blinding to the untrained eye, but by Doug's standards were pretty slow. _Files are still there, ready and activated and... let the fun begin._

Setting the computer back on the counter, Doug breathed a sigh of relief as he drew his attention back to the rack of prods. Reaching hesitantly towards the tools, Doug hoped beyond all hopes that he was right. _If there's ever a time to screw up, this ain't it brother, just, don't screw up now._

With nervous precision, Doug placed the end of the prod into the plug of his belt and smiled half a smile as it clicked in all right. The others looked on as Doug nervously turned the prod...

...and just as quickly watched as his belt fell harmlessly to the floor. Looks of glee passed between the four as Doug could barely contain his excitement, jumping up and down as he held the prod over his head. Jenny pounced on Michael as she wrapped her arms around his neck, while Bo impatiently prodded Doug with the handle of his sledgehammer. Focusing back on the mission at hand, Doug went from one to the next and repeated the procedure.

Bo.

Jenny.

Michael.

Four belts on the floor completely harmless.

"We did it!" Michael yelled triumphantly, "We did it, we did it, we did it!"

"Hot damn, I mean hot damn," Bo continued.

"Come on guys, settle down, this is only half over," Doug said as he picked his shovel up from the floor of the boat, "we have to get the rest of them."

"What'd you do there on the computer?" Bo asked curiously.

"Gave it a bad cold, a virus," Doug said, "left it in their files earlier so we could kick it into gear when we needed it, and we needed it. First it makes their cameras all sluggish, make them think it's a problem with their own gear. It also freezes their locating stuff so they'll think we've all still got our belts on. That's only on a delay though, give it four more minutes and it'll kick in real good with some tunes over the speakers, kill all the cameras, knock out their comps real good. It'll latch onto their firewall stuff so if they try anything it'll only make the situation worse. It's kinda like... Super AIDS."

Giggling at his own wit, Doug straightened his face and finished with the rest of what he had to say, "It'll also hook them up to a webcam I got on my fish tank back home, so try as they might to spot us and see what's going on they're only gonna see fish. I give them maybe two hours, but if I'm as good as I think it should be closer to three, enough for us to rendezvous and get the hell out of here if you know what I'm saying."

Dropping the blade of his shovel onto the deck of the boat, Doug looked to Jenny and Bo and spoke quickly.

"We have to do this fast and we have to do this silent. If they so much as get off a shot it'll reveal our position and I'm betting will send Joel, Katie and Damien down on our position, and given all that's going on they're worse than the military. Too bad we don't have a silencer, that'd make this a damn sight easier..."

"Got a plastic bottle?" Bo asked out of the blue.

"What?" Doug replied.

"Can make a cheap silencer out of a plastic bottle," Bo replied, "If I can pinch one of those semi-autos, won't work with a revolver, off a soldier, put the bottle in front of it and it'll catch the gases, hardly make a sound. Good for two shots maybe but it could give us a level up."

The following moment of silence as the other three eyed him suspiciously caught Bo off guard, but looking up with a smile he simply responded, "What? Spend some time in the slums of London some time, you'll learn all sorts of useful stuff."

"Right..." Doug responded as he turned his attention to their wounded member, "Michael?"

"Yeah?" the boy replied. Pulling Gus' revolver from the back of his belt, Doug held it grip out towards Michael. Catching the drift, Michael obligingly took the heavy weapon from the nerd's hands as he quickly disappeared into the cabin.

"You're our last line of defense," Doug said as he routed around within the cabin, "If you see the soldiers coming your way and we're not with them, take this and let them have it. Wait until they get close, hide if you can, and just let them have it."

From out of the cabin Doug tossed Bo a plastic canteen.

"Will this work?" he asked from within.

"Should," Bo responded, "never tried it meself before but I'll give it a chance."

Swinging what appeared to be a backpack out onto the deck at the rear of the boat, Doug approached Michael again.

"If you don't get them, all of them, they aren't going to kill you. They'll want to take prisoners, and you know what they do to captured terrorists, don't you?"

"Yeah," Michael responded knowingly, "yeah I do."

"If you run out of bullets and they get too close, pull the pin here," Doug responded as he pointed to the side of the bag, "this is a satchel charge with at most a ten second fuse. It'll be huge explosion, you won't feel a thing."

"Cool," Michael said with a gulp, "I got it."

"You sure?" Doug asked reassuringly.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Michael replied.

"All right," Doug said as he surveyed the three people he'd come to confide in, "this is it."

Hoisting a headset microphone he'd also found within the cabin, Doug looked up with particular glee, "Anyone want to phone in a request?"

* * *

A mere fifteen minutes after JJ's last song had wound down over the island, the loudspeakers squealed to life once more on a hijacked transmission. At first the behind the scenes technicians considered the camera slowdown a mere issue of memory, but as soon as all things went to hell it was more than clear what was going on. Gone was the smooth, confident voice of JJ Squalls, and present was the high nasally voice of none other than Doug Rodgers, a.k.a. Boy # 2. 

"No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers dirty looks. This is our game now, try and take it from us. Here's some of _our_ music to kill by."

With the slightest of digital skips, Doug's virus made a path towards his computer back home and accessed the indicated mp3 as he'd programmed it. With a thudding beat, the song flowed through the island with greater clarity than any of the aged records that JJ had to his name.

"_We don't need no education,_

_We dont need no thought control,_

_No dark sarcasm in the classroom,_

_Teachers leave them kids alone,_

_Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!_

_All in all it's just another brick in the wall..."_

* * *

As the strange broadcast permeated across the island, the repair crew that had made their way inland along the path of red light bathed danger zones looked to the sky with a certain level of confusion. 

"What in the happy crappy is that?" Olderham asked as he unslung the M-16 from his shoulder.

"Practical joke?" Hennessy suggested, "Maybe they're just yanking our chain?"

"Those kids man, the ones they told us about," Kamiya responded nervously, "they did it, they actually pulled it off!"

"Shut the fuck up, all of you!" Sgt. Olderham shot back as fear began to permeate the ranks, "We're doubling back to the boat, double time it. Screw the camera, let's get this shit sorted out first. Soldiers, muscle up, get the sidearms out, civvies, just don't do nothing stupid."

Sgt. Olderham quickly led the way as the soldiers and civilian technicians fell into line behind him. Taking up the rear with his pistol held low, PFC. Ben Mraz looked out for any signs of disturbance. _What the hell are we worrying about anyway, we're in a danger zone? There's no way anyone's gonna get within fifty feet of u-_

His thoughts were cut off as a powerful arm encircled his throat. Attacking from behind, Bo grabbed the man's hand with the pistol in it and pressed it tight behind the soldiers back. Pulling, pulling and twisting with all his might, Bo fought to wrench the pistol from the soldier's grasp. Flipping the weapon over in his hand, he tossed it into the bushes as he encircled both arms around the soldier's neck. While Mraz fought to gain the attention of his compatriots, they remained blissfully unaware as he struggled for his life under the hands of the powerful wrestler. The last look that would ever cross Mraz's face was one of confusion as Bo quickly and quietly broke his neck.

Tossing the soldier's body into the bushes, Bo ducked down low as he handled the semi-automatic he'd pinched. Deftly unscrewing the cap of the plastic canteen Doug had found on the boat, Bo emptied its contents onto the ground before placing the open mouth of the container over the barrel of the pistol. _Sloppy, but it'll get the job done nice and proper._

Looking up to the group in front of him, Bo leveled off the pistol and aimed it towards the crew. _Two shots all you got, make 'em count Bo, make 'em count..._

He fired a round that sounded more of a muted pop than the usual thundering boom of a gunshot thanks to his cheap silencer. Hitting the Asian technician Kamiya square in the back, he cried out in pain as he fell to the floor. The others whirled around in confusion as they looked to their fallen comrade and to the boy holding the strange-looking gun on them.

"What in Sam Hill-" Olderham practically yelled as he whirled his rifle around to Bo. One step ahead of the soldier, Bo leveled off a second shot meant to hit Olderham in the head. Instead it blasted a hole clean through the sergeant's wrist, causing him to scream out in pain as he dropped his rifle. _Not a kill shot, but it got the job done..._

Ducking into the bushes while before the other soldiers could get off shots, Bo grabbed his sledgehammer that he'd hidden against a tree. Rushing towards them in the underbrush, he could only watch as Doug and Jenny snuck up from the sides and used the confusion towards their advantage.

"It's an ambush!" Neidermeyer yelled as he whirled his pistol around towards Jenny. Holding the dart gun that Ashley had taken from the murdered Homer, Jenny fired off a single dart that lodged itself deep in the soldier's throat. As he dropped his gun he stumbled back, desperately trying to pull the barbed projectile from his neck.

Catching the others off guard, Doug attacked from the other side. With Olderham and Neidermeyer disarmed, the young nerd went after the lone remaining soldier. Swinging his rusted shovel like an ax, he cracked and split Pvt. Fisk's right shoulder clean in half. As the soldier howled out in agonizing pain and dropped his gun, Doug placed a foot on the man's back and kicked off in a motion that pulled the weapon's blade free from the soldiers back. Swinging it again in a long arc, he smashed the back of the soldier's head in to a bloody pulp.

Entering the fray as the three wounded members of the repair crew stumbled about, Jenny swung her meat hook in a downward arc towards the only untouched member of the team. With the dulled iron spike lodged in Hennessy's back, Jenny twisted it about as the man could only struggle in muted pain.

Regaining his senses, Olderham used his good hand to reach for one of the dropped sidearms and aimed it for the young girl as she held onto the dying technician. Seeing this, Jenny rotated the nearly-dead man's body so that he would act as a human shield.

"Hennessy!" Olderham yelled, "Move your ass damn it, you're blocking my shot!"

As he held the gun high, the sergeant was knocked down as Bo struck him in the back with his sledgehammer. Moving between the dead and dying repair crew, Bo brought his hammer high again and swung the heavy weapon towards Neidermeyer's skull. Though the connection felt dull from the wounded soldier's helmet, the massive spurt of blood that emanated from underneath the headgear was more than enough to indicate that the blow had been a fatal one.

"Bastards, bastards!" Olderham yelled as he crawled through the blood-soaked mud towards a dropped gun, "All of you bastards, come here and fight, fight fair, just, bastards!"

Pulling her hook from the dead Hennessy's back, Jenny approached the downed man alongside Doug. Preparing their weapons to strike as he crawled away from them, they were taken off guard as Bo moved in with startling speed. Stepping on the pistol that the soldier was trying to reacquire, he lifted the man's head up by the hair. Calmly and collectedly, he pulled the pistol he'd stolen earlier from the back of his belt and placed the barrel in Olderham's mouth. With a pull of the trigger much of the back of Olderham's head disappeared in a mist of blood and tissue as it sprayed every which way, the gunshot muted by the natural silencer that was Olderham's mouth.

Staring back in shock as the sergeant's blood and brains sprayed him in the face, Doug found himself speechless. _That, that's something new. That, that stepped it up a notch definitely. _A moment of silence passed between the trio of bloodstained warriors as they looked at their weapons and to their hands as fresh red dripped all around them. It was even on the trees, it was even all over the trees...

"Oh God!" the Asian technician Kamiya moaned from the ground as he held his bleeding stomach, "Oh God, I've been shot! I've been shot!"

Getting back to the task at hand, Doug approached the stricken soldier with his shovel in hand. As Bo and Jenny flanked him from behind with their weapons held high, Kamiya looked up from the ground with eyes the size of saucers as he held out one bloodied hand towards his attackers.

"Wait, guys, please, I can help you!" he pleaded as Doug continued his approach with steely eyes, "Please, I don't want to die! I can help you, I know things, I can help you, I'll join you! Please, I don't want to die!"

Swinging his shovel in a downward arc, Doug connected the flat end with the soldier's face. Knocked flat on his back with a broken and bloody face, Kamiya could only look up as Doug rotated the blade of his shovel downward and thrust it into his head like a spear. Lodging the blade between Kamiya's jaws as he cried out in mid-sentence, Doug wiggled the weapon with a squirt of blood and kicked the shovel's blade to the side. The top half of the soldier's head rolled into the bushes as Doug calmly swung the bloody shovel up so that it would balance on his shoulder.

"C-c-c-," he stammered in an attempt to regain his composure, "come on, let's, let's get their weapons and get the hell out of here. We have to, ha-have to get out of here."

Pausing a moment to take the spoils of their assault on the soldier, the trio hardly reacted to the gory display around them. Pillaging the soldier's bodies for anything they could find of use much like the island's vultures attacked the dead, Doug tried to shake the words from his head that Michael had said moments before.

_I do this for peace..._

* * *

"Is everything alright?" Michael asked as the bloodstained trio slogged through the surf and climbed aboard the boat once more. 

"It's as fine as it's gonna be," Doug answered rather curtly as he tossed several of the soldiers guns next to their boat sentry, "we gotta get moving and we gotta get moving now."

"To the rendezvous, right?" Michael asked rather intently as Jenny made a beeline towards the cabin. The girl moved wordlessly as she scanned the controls. _Exactly like the pictures, not quite like Grandpa's old skiff but it'll do._ She turned the ignition quickly, startled at the ferocity of the engine but smiling at its power.

"We are going to the rendezvous, right?" Michael pleaded a second time.

"Yeah," Doug finally replied as Bo secured the final weapons in the rear of the boat, "We're going to the rendezvous, but we aren't waiting long. They know what's going on and they know the score, if they're there... we'll save them. Either way, we're going to make it off this island."

For the first time in as long as anyone could remember, Doug smiled a real smile. It wasn't one of sarcasm or cynicism, but rather one of genuine happiness that could only be gained from a true victory over the odds.

"We're going to make it," Doug said with hope, "we're actually going to make it. You all right up there Jenny?"

"Yeah," Jenny said with a bit of a war whoop, "I'm gonna kick this into gear, so best hold onto your butts back there!"

Gunning the ignition with very little skill, Jenny powered the craft up as the boat made its way offshore. Fighting against the surf as Jenny piloted the craft over incoming waves, the three in back braced themselves against the surges and did their best to hold the soldiers guns in place.

It was a new beginning for all aboard. All of what they had done in the game had built up to this very moment, and for the first time since they'd stepped aboard the bus for Grad Nite, the four were free. Free from their belts, free from the cameras, free from the cliques that had bound them and imprisoned them in life. The four students of Braiwood High had succeeded in the revolution that Anna started and had succeeded even beyond the wildest dreams she'd had.

Smiling behind the wheel, Jenny couldn't help cry out to the heavens one last time, "SAAAAAAAAAAABREE!"


	66. Hour 61: SYSTEM ERROR114

Hour 61  
SYSTEM ERROR: chexum INVALID 109111090190190-1138-1299999  
Seeuinhell! hahahahahaha INVALID SYSTEM ERROR #114

_Dear Mom, Dad, & James,_

_I can't explain everything that has happened here, and I don't know if I ever will be able to. I've seen the deep dark recesses of the human psyche, I have seen the horrors that even the innocent are capable of. Please keep don't tell James all of what has gone on, as he's too young to understand. Please don't let him know his brother is a murderer._

_Half of our journey has already been completed, and now we are on to the hard part. I know you will miss me, but I assure you I'm going to miss you all even more. You have no idea how hard this was to do, but I had to do it. I didn't even want to come in and do this for the good fight, I did this simply so this country wouldn't rob you of a son and bigger brother. I will never see any of you again. For this, I am sorry. But I will never be sorry for why I did it. I'm alive while others have not. I won the game on my own terms, not on theirs. Jesus, I'm sounding like Anna now. She started all this even if she didn't know quite how to finish it. Please tell her parents that she fought the good fight even to the end._

_I can't think of anything more to say, so I'll stop this now. I love you all._

_James, grow up well. Get outside, don't feel like you have to know everything. Fight if you want, but only fight if you can win. If you cannot, then run away as fast as you can. Play sports. Play with toys. Just play and grow up._

_Mom, Dad. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry._

* * *

Sitting on the bow of the repair boat as sea spray blasted him in the face, the boy pondered the map before him. On the other side he'd made so many check marks, so many different notes on the various secrets and hidden paths of the island. Checked off were all but eleven names, and even then some of them were probably going to be marked pretty soon. 

"You're not going to do one of those 'I'm the king of the world' things, are ya?" Michael asked as he sat alongside the nerd.

"What?" Doug replied as he quickly folded up his map.

"You're sitting at the bow of the boat and you just killed a whole bunch of government soldiers, I'd expect you to at least think of yourself as the king of the world, or at least pull another of your 'I am invincible' things," Michael continued with a laugh.

"Nah, just... writing," Doug responded as he forced the map into his back pocket, "Leaving a note for the family. I don't really want to try and contact them in any way since that'd be downright insane and stupid, well, come to think of it this is all pretty insane and stupid, but as soon as we get into hiding I want to tell them what I won't get another chance to tell them."

"And you're not waiting until we get to dry land because?" Michael asked as the boat hit another swell and bucked on the sea.

"Inspiration I guess," Doug shrugged, "and I don't know how well I'll be thinking when we hit land. I'm thinking pretty clearly now, I just want to get it out while I still can."

"So you still think we're going to make it to dry land?" Michael asked.

"You've been making it by in this game by the hope we would, you starting to have your doubts?" Doug asked.

"I doubt everything around here I guess," Michael replied dryly, "I just don't know what way's up or down anymore after all that we've done. Let's face it, we started this movement with the noblest of intentions, to try and get as many people out of here as possible with the least amount of killing. We've lost a good number of the people we tried to save, Francisco, Lexie, Matt, Gus, the girls in the infirmary, Anna, and it just seems that we've lost our way."

"But we made it," Doug replied, "we made it and that's what counts here. We knew coming in that this was going to be hard, hell, I knew that it was going to be hard and I like to think I know everything."

"You know that we're going to make it out of here?" Michael asked, "You know that we're going to be able to live with all we've seen and done on this island?"

Feeling the folded up map in his pocket, Doug couldn't quite put into words the conclusion he wanted to reach. Uncertainty, it was the key. Sure, they had made it onto the boat and made it this far... but there's always room to screw up. _Always._

"Sure," Doug responded, "why not?"

* * *

"What do you think they're talking about?" Bo asked as he lit up his first cigarette in as long as he could recall. _Christ, now's as good a time as any to start up one of those lethal habits again, isn't it?_

"Something important I guess," Jenny said as she looked through the cabin's window to the horizon, "Michael's always been a good philosopher and Doug's damn smart."

"You talk to him at all before this?" Bo asked as he took a long drag from the cancer stick.

"What's that?" Jenny asked as she kept her eyes on the sea. They'd been hugging the coast for more than an hour, shouldn't be too far off from the harbor. _At least according to that damn map, has anyone here actually been to the harbor? Is there anything left or is it just a set of ruins? We so need a working dock._

"Just something I'm wondering," Bo asked, "I've found this game makes strange bedfellows of people."

"Like you with us?" Jenny asked again.

"Basically, yeah," Bo responded, "it's weird looking at you guys in your original makeup since I didn't think most any of you would really spend time together, aside from you and Anna and those SDS people."

"Common interests I guess," Jenny replied, "we all wanted to live."

"Yeah, I wanted to live too, but I had to be one of the bad guys to do it," Bo replied with a cough of smoke, "thought I did at least. Let me tell you, I can't say I'm entirely proud of my time on the bad side."

"You didn't know any better though," Jenny quickly fired back, "you stuck by your friends just like any of us. You're on the winning team now, and that's what matters. That is what matters."

Cocking her neck to work out an ache, Jenny added, "We wouldn't have been able to do that without you, you know that, right?"

"I guess," Bo responded a bit shaken, "it's the first time I've actually killed someone. When we busted on that soldier on the deck, it was, I don't know how to put it. I didn't know that I could do that."

"Had to do what we had to do," Jenny replied quickly, "it's not like we had a whole lot of other options. I mean, did you think that they were just going to give us the boat?"

"No, but I just didn't know it was going to be that bad," Bo responded with a shrug, "you expect a person to die pretty quickly, and here I've seen people go quick, some take a long time, some fight it, some just go nuts, and some just look like they're gonna explode. And Doug, with that shovel, fuck..."

Jenny knew full well that she could have fought Bo on the issue, but given all that had happened, it just did not seem to be worth it. _Fucking soldiers got all that they deserved. They're the ones who forced us to be here, they're the ones who work for the government that made this program work. They all deserved to die deaths greater than any of us could ever imagine. What we did to them was merciful if anything, if I had each of them tied up with a knife you'd bet that there balls would be-_

"Hey!" Doug shouted as he spun around to face the pair inside the cabin, "We're there!"

Arching their necks so they could get a better view from within, Bo and Jenny did their best to get a view of their destination. It didn't look like much, and in fact it looked like hell, but there it was.

"That's the harbor?" Jenny asked quizically.

* * *

The harbor on the bottom tip of the island had fallen into the most disrepair when compared to most any of the other buildings. Due to the island's unique shape, it often took the brunt of any and all tropical storms while the southern hills tended to deflect most anything other than the severe rains. As such, the few buildings that the harbor contained were in shambles. A storage warehouse once made of aluminum siding had completely collapsed in upon itself. A parade grounds was covered in years of algae and muck, with a flight of seagulls currently calling the facility home. Of the three docks that used to be built onto the sea, two had since been turned into twisted hulks of wood and rusted metal. 

Doing her best to navigate the large and ungainly boat (she'd driven her grandfather's skiff on more than a few occasions, but this was hardly a pleasure craft), Jenny backed the ship up and tried to get as flush against the remaining dock as was humanly possible. With a screech of metal on metal and the splintering of several wooden planks, Jenny ground the vehicle to a complete crash partly within the dock.

"Found the dock," Jenny said wryly as the boat ground to a stop.

"Come on," Doug said as he quickly made his way to the back of the boat's deck, "let's get this done, time is short."

With the rest of the escapees in tow, Doug powered his way over to the boat's rear and lifted Michael's megaphone into his hands. Making sure he remembered how to use it, he lifted the tool over his head and held it like a gun. _Please God, I know you don't listen to me often, and, come to think of it I don't think you listen to me at all, but I'm asking you for that rare chance to do something good. Please let whoever's left of our friends hear this._

With a loud electronic squeal, Doug pressed the squelch button. What hopes they had of the remaining SABRE quartet hiding out within the harbor's ruins were quickly dashed, as no one appeared upon their signal.

"Nobody's here," Bo said as he stated the obvious.

"No kidding," Doug replied, "we're going to wait for five minutes like we said."

Looking nervous as he eyed the ruins, Doug could swear he caught some movement. _Just the wind, something light caught within it, just a figment of your imagination. If it was Carter or Katherine or Ashley they would've tried to come into contact with us by now._

"Maybe we should hit the button again in case they didn't hear us," Michael proposed with a slight wince as he shifted his arm.

"No, we hit it once," Doug said emphatically, "that was the deal."

"Yeah," Bo added, "we don't want to advertise our whereabouts any more than we have to."

"But maybe they didn't hear us," Michael replied, "maybe they didn't hear the signal! We should do it again just to be safe."

"They know what they're looking for," Doug shot back, "if they hear another blast then they might think something had gone wrong."

"Why don't we just-" Michael insisted as he reached over to the megaphone in Doug's hands, cut off as Jenny reached across and tried to block his path.

"Hey, don't do it," she shot out.

"I just want to-" Michael insisted as he pushed the girl out of the way, reaching out with his good arm in an attempt to regain control of his megaphone. Fully stepping into the fray, Bo stepped in front of the wiry boy with the pink and purple hair, reaching out with both hands to grab his shoulders and hold him back. In an effort to further keep their position safe, Doug quickly dropped the megaphone to the ground and further joined the group to keep Michael from making a deadly mistake. With all their attention focused on each other, their eyes remained away from the dock and away from those that approached.

"Hey Bo," a masculine voice said from behind, "what's up man?"

As the four turned away from their tussle, they looked up to see two figures whom they had neither expected nor seen (well, except for Bo) once during their tenure within the Battle Royale. As it may be, they were perhaps the two faces that any competitor would have wished to see least, as generally speaking seeing their faces often meant it would be the last thing you'd see.

Standing tall with an amazingly wiry figure yet somehow stocky with her bulletproof vest, Katie Snyder, a.k.a. Girl # 2 held the AK-47 they'd all heard from across the island at her hip. With fiery red hair tied up in two short pigtails, the girl looked almost cherubic, but given the circumstances and her well-known record within the game her smile was far from a comforting site. Next to her stood Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23. His square, thuggish face with a mess of goatee (and three days growth of stubble) was contorted into one of the wildest, unnecessarily happy smiles that most any of them had seen on the boy. His cruelty and habits were known to all, and with a smile such as his he was ever the more intimidating. With two pistols slung through the straps of his backpack, a rapier hanging from his belt and a shotgun held at his hip, the boy looked more of a modern day pirate than he did a school's star athlete. With the two Battle Royale juggernauts standing and their guns trained on them, the four on the boat stared mutely towards the mass murderers. None of them had guns in their hands, and by the time any of them could make a dive for any of their weapons, the two assassins could have easily opened up on them.

Looking upon his former boss who stared them down with practically gleeful eyes, Bo felt the need to say something. _You abandoned him in the heat of battle, he might not be the most accepting of apologies at a time like this. Then again, he was a genocidal madman then (but what's to say he's changed his ways?), you had every right to run off and try to make a flight for survival. Just, say something, try to tell him about what's going down here, just..._

"Joel," Bo started, "man..."

Hardly allowing the chance for Bo to continue, Joel let loose with his Spas-12 and blasted Bo square in the chest. After his first shot, Katie too unleashed fury from the barrel of her AK-47, sweeping the automatic's bullets across the deck with distinct glee and moans of pleasure as Joel too pumped shot after shot from his weapon at the boat. Dancing a strange dance as the bullets riddled their bodies, Bo, Jenny, Doug and Michael all writhed about with various screams and cries of pain. As Joel's shotgun and soon after Katie's assault rifle ran dry on ammunition, the bodies of the deceased SABRE members dropped to the deck's floor in a mess of blood and bodies the game had not seen.

"Now THAT," Joel said with certain enthusiasm as the sound finally died down, "THAT is what I am talking about!"

"Where did they get the boat from?" Katie asked, "All transport should have been taken away from the island."

"Fuck if I know," Joel said as he went on to reload his shotgun. Katie too set about putting another clip in her AK-47 as she approached the boat. The sheer presence of the vehicle was more than enough to call into question what she was seeing, there was something not right about it...

Stepping onto the dock, Katie silently waved Joel back as the boy tried to approach her.

"Let me finish the job," Katie said simply, "we must make sure, and I have more ammunition than you. I must... find out what this is about."

Normally one to make a point when a chick gave him an order, Joel wasn't one to argue with Katie anymore. Too many times she'd turned out correct, too many times she'd known what she was talking about, and he was not about to stop her now, not after she led them here... Raising his eyes to the girl as he continued to reload, he watched her climb aboard the boat.

* * *

The boy was alive when by all rights he should not have been. With four bullet holes from an AK-47 stitched across his chest and stomach and three exit wounds along his back the size of soda cans, Michael Baxter by all rights should have been dead. Instead, he lived, pulling himself into the boat's cabin as he left behind a bloody trail. For some reason he couldn't quite understand his legs had gone numb, but none of that... none of that mattered now. He'd be dead soon anyway. 

RAT-A-TAT!

_Coup de grace. She's finishing us off... _Looking through the door to the cabin, Michael watched as Katie moved from the corpse of Bo to that of Doug as she brought the barrel of her AK-47 up against the young nerd's skull. His thick glasses were stained heavily with blood, face almost obscured by a blast of buck shot that had torn off his lower jaw. It was clear that he was already dead, but this girl, she was merciless.

RAT-A-TAT!

Climbing further into the cabin solely on the strength of his one good arm, Michael found himself consumed by one thought above all else. It didn't really make sense, but it all seemed to come from what Michael had drilled into him before the assault on the repair crew. _We can't, we just can't let anyone take this boat. We fought for it, and we can't let them take it from us, not after all we've done to get it! We can not let them take this from us!_

Looking through the open door of the boat's cabin as he coughed up a fair amount of blood onto the floor, Michael could see Jenny sprawled out on the floor. She reached out to him with an outstretched arm, her other one busy trying to hold her innards in from a blast of buck shot. Her mouth opened and closed limply as she tried to suck in a last breath while blood gushed from the sides of her mouth. The girl's eyes stared into his pleadingly, trying to look for some kind of savior, some kind of rescue. It wasn't to come.

RAT-A-TAT!

Jenny's head disappeared in an explosion of meat and bone. Reaching what he had been looking for, Michael reached up limply towards the satchel charge he'd stowed earlier. His hand traced bloody lines over the bag as his first grasp towards it missed. Reaching for the bag again, his fingers slipped over the straps from all the blood. Coughing up another mouthful of blood, he watched as the world turned blurry. _Come on, just, just get it... just get..._

Circling his fingers through the pin on the side of the satchel charge, Michael could only force a crooked smile.

RAT-A-TAT!

Three bullet holes traced their way through his neck and skull with a bloody eruption, throwing Michael's body violently across the cabin as he wrenched free the satchel charge's pin. Looking towards where the boy had crawled and hearing the beeping coming from the backpack, Katie wasn't entirely sure what was going on but at the same time knew that a rapidly increasing electronic beeping sound was hardly a good thing.

Running from the cabin to the deck and leaping deftly onto the dock, Katie pushed Joel on the shoulder as she set out in a sprint.

"RUN!" she yelled as she ran down the dock. Getting the hint, Joel took off in a run shortly behind the girl, though his stocky frame and limp from Francisco's stabbing his ankle kept him quite a distance behind the wiry young girl. _What's she talking about here now? Every time something happens she seems to know about it, she just right up and knows about it and you gotta follow her because you know she knows what the hell she's talking abo-_

As he began to look over his shoulder to see what exactly she was talking about, Joel was wrenched off his feet and flung through the air like a rag doll. Though the explosion was great, it produced little fire and perhaps that alone accounted for the pair's survival. Much of the boat and dock was blasted about every which way, while the bodies of Jenny and Doug lay sprawled across what was left of the pier. Bo's damaged body floated lazily in the harbor, stuck against a piling as a belt loop caught in a stray nail, while what was left of Michael (and considering the blast, it wasn't much), lay within the debris field.

He didn't know why, but his head hurt like hell. _Just looking over and man, what the fuck was that? Why's my ear ringing like that, what the hell man?_ He lay back on the ground, contorted in god only knew what kind of strange position with his eyes on the sky. He was vaguely aware of a dull sound approaching from the side with the ringing, but for some reason couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. Then her shadow blocked out the sun.

"Are you alive?" she said in an almost muted tone that Joel could discern.

"Yeah, I'm alive," Joel responded groggily, "what the hell was that?"

"Explosion," she said in that same muted tone beneath the ringing, "one of them must have set some explosives on the boat. Our favor with Him is all that spared us I'm certain."

"My head..." Joel moaned as he sat up, "son of a bitch..."

"Let me see," Katie said as she quickly slung the AK-47 over her shoulder and forcefully grabbed Joel's skull between her hands. Rotating it around at her very whim with no concern for the moans and groans he let out, Katie nodded with little response.

"Your ear is bleeding, which means you probably burst an ear drum. All things considered you look in good condition," Katie said calmly as she went over to Doug's remains. Forcefully ripping the bloodstained shirt from the boy's corpse, she wadded half of it up and placed it next to Joel's ruined left ear while using the other half to tie the rudimentary bandage around his head.

"Man, this is fucked," Joel said loudly over the ringing in his ear.

"Yes, but the sign proved true," Katie said, "He delivered it to us and it proved true, and now we've reached the top of the food chain here."

Hobbling to his feet, Joel managed a crooked smile despite the pain and ringing in his ear, "Now that makes up for this just a bit. There were four on that boat, right?"

"Yes, four that I counted," Katie responded, "though how they found the boat I still found a bit troubling. And how none of them had their belts..."

"Fuck 'em," Joel said, "we killed 'em, we knocked 'em out of the competition, and now there's seven. We're in single digits land, you and me, we got this game and we got it by the ass."

"Now that I cannot deny," Katie said with a wicked smile, "you and I are the deadliest pair on the island right now. We're like Starkweather and Fugate..."

"Yeah," Joel said, then looking to placate this harpy of a girl, "kick ass for the lord."

Pulling his hand from his ear, the wrestler roughly pulled the librarian's aide into a passionate embrace and kissed her forcefully. She too was more than willing to comply, kissing and biting Joel as if she were a predator and he the prey, wrapping one of her legs around his knee as she cooed delightfully.

"You're damn right," she said with a smile as they parted. Kissing the boy back even harder, the pair joined bodies in what seemed to be the most unholy of pairings that the Battle Royale could have imagined. From opposite ends of the spectrum, they never would have met had it not been for the game, yet together they proved to be the deadliest combination known to man. Standing near the boat's remains surrounded by debris and death, they cared not for the world around them as they continued their embrace, not knowing that a moment's conversation could have saved their lives and those of the remaining contestants on the island.

Instead the warrior and the murderess remained together, sharing their lust and ferocity and ready to rain down their holy fire upon those who remained in their path to righteous victory.


	67. Hour 62: 7 Contestants Remaining

Hour 62

7 Contestants Remaining

Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4, did all that she could to restrain herself from screaming. On the slope of a small hill leading in to the harbor hidden within the jungle, Katherine watched the scene that unfolded before her with a mute look of horror across her face. They'd heard the signal, run with all their might, but still they didn't make it. They'd watched the unholy combination that was Joel Giovanello, a.k.a. Boy # 23, and Girl # 2, Katie Snyder, massacre their remaining members with little compunction or mercy. _They... shot them all. They tore them apart as if they were paper, and they blew up the boat. They blew up the boat! What was that all about? What are we going to do? They blew up the boat! Jesus Christ they blew up the boat!_

"Fuck," Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 shouted angrily as she hit a nearby tree, "God damn it!"

"My God," Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1 said with more of a look of horror than even Katherine's face could muster, "it's... it's game over. Game over!"

"Son of a bitch!" Ashley yelled again with little concern as to whether or not she was heard. With her eyes crossing the group, Katherine did all that she could to see who was thinking what and what she herself should have been thinking. _What's happening, what are we going to do? We were going to get out of here, we were going to live! We... we can't make it out, this is it, this is just, this is the end of the line! We can't do it like this!_

Ashley hardly seemed to be the person to follow as an example of how to handle a crisis situation. Her rage was palpable, and she paced around like a wild animal in a cage. With nostrils flaring, she punched the tree again as she eyed the carnage below.

"Motherfuckers, going down," Ashley blurted out as she pulled her sawed-off shotgun from its sheet, "gonna get them down and gonna fuck 'em up the ass, just, we're gonna get them down and take them on, take them down, we gotta, we gotta take them down."

Angrily thrusting her weapon into the air, Ashley regained enough restraint to put the weapon back into its sheath before doing something stupid.

"God damn it," she finally muttered.

Looking over to Carter, Katherine hoped for some sign of strength and solidarity. This game allowed her to know him for all he was. Yes, he was hardly perfect, and a lot of his actions had led to more than their fair share of folly, but at the same time there was just something so grounding about him that she had to balance herself against. He was a constant, and he was devoted to her unconditionally. The feelings she had toward him were confused at best, balancing somewhere between actual heartfelt emotion and hesitation over something like this happening so fast and under such circumstances as these, but no matter what those feelings were she was hoping for him to be exactly what she was looking for here. Instead, he looked like a boy who was just told that Santa Claus had died. He looked to the carnage with blank, almost glazed over eyes as tears formed at their edges. All of the hope that he had had vanished, and all that he used to be seemed to no longer exist. Carter may have been there in person, but for all intents and purposes he remained the empty shell of a person.

"What are we going to do?" Katherine finally asked as she tried to fight back tears of her own, "What is going on?"

"I..." Carter hesitated as he tried not to break out crying, "I... don't-"

"We're gonna get 'em and we're gonna get 'em good," Ashley said emphatically as she pointed to Katherine, "we're gonna get them and we're going to fuck them up. Right here, right now we're gonna just blast the shit out of them."

"We can't do that," Carter said, "we'd be slaughtered."

"We're all gonna die anyway," Ashley said harshly, "Fuckers got what's coming to them and I'm gonna give it to them just give me one good shot, one good shot and I'm going to fuck them up real good."

"We can't die," Carter said back a bit jittery, "this wasn't the plan, this wasn't what Anna was trying to do for us! We were, we were going to get out of here!"

"Well we ain't getting out now," Ashley fired back to her friend, "they took our boat, and we are going to die. WE ARE GOING TO DIE! Can you not get that through your skull! We're all going to die!"

With Ashley's words stinging like daggers, Katherine began to freely cry and no longer felt reason to hold it back. _It's all over, just, just get it out, it's all over, just let it out, it's all over, you and Carter and Ashley and everyone, everyone it's all over. God damn it, why did this have to happen to us!_

With eyes clearing up a bit, Katherine looked over to the last member of their group to see if he held any more rationality than the broken Carter or the infuriated Ashley. Instead she saw a boy who was looking to the ground and seemed rather pissed about it at that.

"It's not fair..." Paul Holt, a.k.a. Boy # 12, muttered to himself, "It's just not fair... not again, not like this..."

* * *

More than anything else, he hated the nametag, which all in all was hard for even Paul to say because he found very little to hate in the world. Sure, there were unnecessary cliffhanger endings, the smell of a skunk, and people who hurt kids, but right up there he without a doubt had to put that damn nametag on his short list of things to hate. 

PAUL  
Cashier

_Yeah, everyone these days has a title, but they don't have to be their title. I mean, I'm not just Paul Holt, cashier. I've got my redeeming qualities, I'm a funny guy, I know a lot of things, but when people come in here, when people come in to buy themselves their liquor, I'm just Paul the Cashier. Hell, if they didn't know this was a family store they wouldn't even know that I-_

"Man, did you switch out the nacho dip tonight?" Simon grimaced as he ate a pile of chips that were seemingly coated in orange paint.

"What's that?" Paul asked his bigger brother.

"Shit tastes like floor tiling," Simon replied as he dropped the tray of nachos into the garbage and spit out what little was still in his mouth, "I mean, that, that is just nasty."

"Sorry, old family recipe, ya know?" Paul said with a bit of a laugh.

"Please, we get that stuff shipped in from Mexico," Simon responded, "we gotta start ordering domestic."

"Tell that to mom and dad," Paul said with an eye roll, "we don't start cutting some halfway decent profits and it's still all this cheap stuff. And watch out, you're getting more of that stuff on your uniform than in your mouth."

Paul sighed. If there was anything that the nametag also meant, it was that he was stuck to the family convenience store. It held him back, and even though there was still going to University once the semester began, it wasn't soon enough in his mind. As far as he was concerned, he simply had to get out of Braiwood as soon as possible. If he didn't leave soon, he was more than aware that he probably wouldn't be leaving at all.

Still, if there was reason to stay, it'd be for family. Paul couldn't think of any people stronger or more determined than his mother and father, two people so strong-willed and so determined to make good on their promises that they wouldn't give up on he store even though business had steadily been on the decline. Simon, his older brother, was about the coolest guy that Paul could vouch that he knew. He got Paul interested in horror movies early on, was always there for advice, and was more willing to give him hell when he screwed up than pretty much anybody else.

"So what are you doing here?" Simon asked as he popped open one of the wall's refrigerators and pulled free a Snapple.

"My job?" Paul said as he shrugged and began counting the scratcher tickers.

"No, I mean, what are you doing here on Prom Night?" Simon asked as he took a swig from his tea, "We could've called in Roland and he wouldn't have had a problem coming in. Come on, everybody goes to prom, what made you skip out?"

"Lack of opportunity I guess," Paul shrugged as he imagined her face, then shook the thought off, "I couldn't get a date, and I didn't want to be the creepy guy in the back of the prom who goes alone looking to score some pussy, because that ain't my style. I mean, that's just-"

"Just like me?" Simon asked with a laugh.

"No, not just like you, I mean, you were the stud man," Paul replied, "you could have walked in the doors of, well, pretty much anything and come out with a girl on either arm."

"Well, kinda sorta," Simon responded with a smile, "I wasn't the man back then, but I was still pretty good, but that wasn't the half of it. Prom night was without a doubt the first truly embarrassing sexual experience I can say I had."

"Really now?" Paul asked with certain curiosity, "Studly Simon had an embarrassing sexual experience on prom night?"

"I kid you not," Simon responded, "You remember Linnea Moseley?"

"Can't say I did," Paul replied, "that was eight years ago, and thanks to television today I can hardly remember what I did eight minutes ago."

"Fair enough," Simon continued, "Blonde hair, major league melons and legs that wouldn't quit, and I mean they just went all the way up. Well, anyway her date showed up drunk, and being the sensible and sensitive individual I am I hit on her. Well, one thing leads to another and we start making out pretty heavy and we decide to get out to get on with our business. Her date didn't even know what hit him."

"The old swoop and steal," Paul acknowledged.

"You got it bro," Simon responded, "so being a cheapskate I use my own car and we go out to the makeout spot up by the water tower, and let me tell you thank god for bench seats because we got it on pretty heavy in the front seat. Well, I get my rubber on and I get it in her and we're going at it pretty good, I mean, let me tell you that girl's probably some mechanical bull riding champion because she's just good."

"When's the embarrassing part come in?" Paul asked.

"I'm getting there," Simon butted in as he waved a hand dismissively, "anyway, she gets up on top and she's just really goin at it good when a cop comes up and taps on our window."

"Ouch," Paul responded with a wince.

"Oh you ain't seen nothing yet," Simon replied with a laugh, "anyway this shocks the hell out of her 'cause I think she still believes in hookhand and all those sorts of things, and she just jolts her head up and hits the car roof. BAM, she knocks herself flat out and gashes her forehead open with blood everywhere. So, now the cop's got his gun drawn, yanks the door open and thinks I'm raping her or something while I'm just scared to high hell and screaming. It must have been the shock or something, I don't know but at that moment she gets a powerful cramp and just locks up down there, so here I am locked into this unconscious girl with blood everywhere and my manhood in a vice grip that's threatening to break it off. Had to get an ambulance up there to finally pry us apart, and, yeah, try explaining that one to mom and dad."

Paul couldn't help but laugh uproariously at his brother's predicament. There really weren't that many more ways of embarrassing yourself that he could have thought up, but that one was pretty good. Pretty good... but not quite the best.

"I got that beat," Paul laughed, "I got that beat."

"You got that beat?" Simon responded quizzically, "you're still a virgin!"

"How'd you know that?" Paul shot back.

"Come on, please," Simon laughed as he rolled his eyes.

"OK, OK, you win this round Mr. Bond," Paul laughed back, "but I still got that beat."

"All right Mr. McFancypants, spill it," Simon said as he swiped a scratcher from under the counter.

"Remember that time when I was twelve when I fractured my skull?" Paul asked his brother who seemed more concerned with the scratch off lottery ticket than his brother's well being, "And you're gonna have to pay for that I know."

"So, yes and charge it to my store credit," Simon replied as he crumpled the losing ticket up and tossed it to the side.

"Dad ever tell you how I did it?" Paul asked.

"Fell off that swing, right?" Simon replied inquisitively.

"That's what dad said, but he used it to cover for me," Paul continued, "and himself probably. Long story short, I found dad's stash of porn, and it kind of went downhill from there."

"You found dad's old Hustlers?" Simon shrugged, "Big deal, remember that time I found mom's vibrator? Now THAT was scarring."

"No, I found his old stash of BETA-MAX porn," Paul replied with a laugh, "I mean it was pretty bad stuff, girls with flat chests and big hair and guys with handlebar mustaches that looked like truckers, I mean, I love the eighties like anyone else but dear god these people are ugly. At any rate, I just figured out how to get off pretty recently at the time, and when I found these tapes it seemed like the greatest thing in the world."

"I bet," Simon responded.

"Yeah, anyhow," Paul replied with a roll of the eyes, "I pop one of these tapes in and got my pants rolled down, doing my thing and having a good time of it. But, you see I'm balancing my body on one hand and enjoying myself with the other, and when I really start get going and release there, well, my vision goes hazy or something but next thing I know the arm I'm balancing with gives out and I face plant into the TV. I woke up in the hospital, but dad said he found me with my pants down, TV blaring of porn and covered in man juice, and, well, felt it was something best left out of the Christmas card. God bless that swing set for helping save my modesty."

With big, burly Simon in fits of laughter as he literally rolled about on the floor of the mini-mart, Paul couldn't help but smile. Time and again Simon had outdone Paul, and time and again Paul would have found himself in Simon's current position. But, here it went, for once he had the upper hand, for once he was able to impress his big brother as much as his big brother impressed him. He'd always made sure to keep the story for a rainy day, and if ever there was the opportunity, this was it. _Give the guy anything if it keeps his mind off the fact that you're ditching prom night because you couldn't get a date._

"Come on man, get off the floor," Paul laughed, "you're getting shit all over your shirt."

"Awww damn it," Simon replied as he got off the ground and looked to his shirt, "I just got this back from the cleaners too. Gimme the bathroom key bro."

Fishing around under the counter, Paul found the bathroom key with its blue steel shark keychain and tossed it to his brother, "Just don't lose it man alright? Last time you flushed it mom made me pay for it out of my check."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Simon replied as he made his way to the bathroom and unlocked the foul-smelling facilities, "I got a story that'll knock that one out of the water involving a porcupine, but lemme clean this crap off first. I'll be right back."

As his brother disappeared into the bathroom facilities, Paul looked to the ceiling. Tapping his fingers in time to the radio as it played "Simple Man" (was that Lynyrd Skynyrd or Allman Brothers? He could never remember even though he really liked the song), the boy couldn't help but muse as to whether or not his decision to avoid prom had been a good one. _There is a difference between you and him though, prom would be a whole separate deal. Yeah, he's one of us, he's a horror fan, but the guy was also a stud throughout high school, the playa and jock that you could never be. Hell, all those hunting trips he'd get the bucks while you'd get the little bunny rabbits. I mean, the guy's a hero now, and what are you? At best you're the geeky kid who's always going to work the family store, the one that's never had the nerve to even ask... Jesus Christ, she's a hardass and a pretty loose one at that, she'd have probably gone out with you if you just had the intestinal fortitude to ask, then how in the hell are you going to gain the courage to tell her what you-_

With the jingling of a bell Paul turned his attention to the shop's front door. _Great, more stoners looking for something shiny... _Instead of the usual crowd of late night wanderers and stoners, Paul was met with the sight of two men in ski masks and hooded sweatshirts. The short one came forth with a bright, wolf-like smile shining through his mask, while the taller and more muscular (or at least it seemed that way) held in his hands a long-barreled revolver. The gun-wielding man approached Paul quickly and shoved the gun in his face.

"The money in my man's bag or your head on the wall, your choice little man," the masked man said quickly and angrily. The smaller man giggled gleefully as he held a brown paper bag wide open.

"Yeah, yeah, get it in, get it in quick," he said with the stench of alcohol and vomit still present on his breath.

"I, I, I," Paul sputtered as his fingers danced over the cash register, "I don't, I don't, what, I don't."

As his words faltered and failed to get past his lips, Paul's attacker swung the revolver and pistol-whipped the boy behind the counter across the cheek.

"Now bitch or so help me god your I'm gonna paint the wall with your brains," the masked man said somewhat nervously, "NOW!"

"I got, I got it," Paul said as he quickly rung up a sale and opened the register. The smaller of the two robbers quickly reached inside and pulled out maybe two hundred in sales and change and dropped them into his paper bag.

"That's it?" he asked, "You gotta have more than that."

"The safe man," the gun-wielding one quickly followed up, "open up the safe man or I'll fucking kill you."

"I don't know the combination," Paul lied, going over the procedure any and all clerks were to say under the circumstances, _way to be cool man, real Snake Plissken you are here._

"Like fuck you don't," the big one said as he cocked the hammer of his revolver, "get it and get it now dipshit."

"FREEZE, POLICE!" Simon Holt yelled as he stepped out of the bathroom. Clad in his uniform which he knew he should have removed when he went off duty, Simon had never been gladder and more thankful to have his piece and shield.

"PUT THE GUN DOWN AND GET ON THE GROUND NOW!" Simon yelled angrily as he held his duty pistol trained on the pair of robbers. The pair of criminals stood dumbstruck at the appearance of the police officer and seemed not to know how to react to the development.

Knowing that the developments were not for the best, Paul looked at what few options he had. _All right, jump up, be the hero, dive over and knock these two gents down, disarm them and make Simon proud. Or, run screaming like a little girl and hope he can figure out what to do._

Picking what he thought to be the middle road, Paul ducked behind the counter with such speed that it almost appeared as if a trap door had been opened beneath him. On instinct, the criminal with the gun fired off a shot that grazed inches above Paul's head and smashed into the nacho cheese barrel. Simon quickly returned fire, sending two bullets towards the criminals and missing both by miles as they smashed into the store's front window. Whirling around, the criminal gunman fired off one shot in the direction of the police officer, getting a loud groan and the sound of a body falling to the floor.

"Holy shit!" the small one yelled.

"Jesus Christ!" the big one hollered back, "let's get the hell out of here!"

"Holy shit!" the small one yelled again as the pair warily ran through the front door.

With ears ringing and shoulders doused with napalm-like nacho cheese, Paul cowered behind the counter. _Holy crap, holy, holy crap, that, that really stepped it up a notch, I mean, Jesus Christ, did that really happen? What the hell, what the hell was that? Did that, did that all happen?_

"Simon?" Paul asked to deaf ears, "Simon?"

Edging his head out from behind the counter, Paul asked again, "Simon?"

No response. Edging his head out further, Paul caught the edge of a growing puddle of blood. Letting his eyes trail up higher, Paul caught sight of his brother leaning up against their shattered Snapple case. Through the left side of his jaw a small red hole bored itself cleanly into his features with blood running freely and puddling below him.

"Simon?" Paul asked again helplessly, "Simon, man, say something? Please? Please?"

* * *

A sharp beeping brought Paul back to attention and to the real world as one of the LED's on his belt illuminated. In quick succession, lights began flashing on Carter, Katherine and Ashley's belts as a quick stream of beeps began to emanate from their respective restraints. 

"Jesus Christ!" Carter yelled as he braced his back against a tree, nearly bowling Ashley over as she looked around in shock.

_No, this can't be how it ends. Yeah, most movies don't have a happy ending either but this can't be how it ends, not like this, not with everything we done to get here, just be blown up like it meant nothing. Damn it Paul, you did this for what? For what!_

As the beeping from the belts reached an unbelievably high pitch, the four were treated to something unexpected. With eyes, fists and mouths clenched tight, they had all braced themselves for a body-jarring explosion. They had expected to be ripped in half like so many had already, and yet there was nothing. Pure fear was met with confusion as silence greeted their ears. Eyes searched from one person to the next, each looking to see if there was any explanation for what was happening.

And then there came the voice.

"Members of the terrorist organization known as SABRE," a voice emanated from their belts, "this is General Jack Thornton, head of the Battle Royale Project."

Coming directly from the microphone in the front of their belts (which apparently doubled as speakers), the booming voice of the General was booming and unforgiving."

"I know you're probably surprised by this turn of events, and frankly we're surprised you all made it as far as you did. Your skills surpassed our caution, but despite your protestations none of you were as talented as you might think. We've known about your organization from the beginning, and if we didn't think it would damage the ratings we would have detonated your belts the moment you organized. This right now is basically our way of telling you that none of you ever had hope. You would have never made it off the island, as we heard every conversation you ever had and planned accordingly. That meat locker you frequented? We had microphones installed in it for the exact reason you felt it would be good hiding place. You never stood a chance. You are ours. Fighting us is futile, and if you want any chances for survival you're going to fight each other. We've defeated your virus and are turning the cameras back on. Being that we're as interested in a good show as any, we're still going to give you a sporting chance by not broadcasting this across the island, though with your competition remaining I wouldn't give any of you much longer. Don't do anything stupid, and god bless America."

With a slight electronic hiss, the LED's on the sides of their belts returned to normal and silence again reigned supreme. As Paul looked around to his allies, he saw that the message had struck them all devastatingly. What little hope remained in Carter's face (which was miniscule as is) was gone. Down on his knees, he began to vomit into the bushes. Katherine bent over to try to comfort the boy, though with tears staining her glasses she wasn't doing much better. With Ashley portraying nothing but surprising stoicism given her earlier outburst, Paul finally spoke up.

"Bullshit," he said, "all of this, this is bullshit."

"No kidding," Ashley said as she craned her neck to look down the hill.

"No, I mean this, all of this, this is bullshit," Paul said with conviction, "we worked our asses off for this. We should have gotten out."

"Should've but didn't," Ashley practically laughed.

"What are you saying Paul?" Katherine asked, "It's all over."

"No it ain't," Paul shot back, "It's not over until we say it's over, and I'm not saying it's over. Time and again the bad guys come, they take, and we just let it happen."

Pointing down the hill to the pair of murderers who scoured the debris for anything useful, Paul continued, "They did this to us. They murdered our friends, _our fucking family_, they robbed us of our _lives_! It's always been us sitting back and waiting. We've been sitting back and waiting and hoping for the best. We've been sitting back and waiting while the people we love are killed. I'm just sick and tired of letting the bad guys win. Bad guys aren't supposed to win, they aren't supposed to get away with it, that's why there's good guys to begin with!"

"This isn't a movie," Carter replied sickly as he wiped bile from his mouth, "this is real life man, and we're all screwed."

"You're right," Paul said earnestly, "We are. Now we're in a spot where it's all or nothing, we are going to die, but I am not going to let one of those stupid, servile sons of bitches take me down without a fight. I'm going to give them hell. I'm not going to sit back anymore and watch the good people fall when I could have done something to fix it. You all can do whatever the hell you want now, but I'm going to give them hell."

With three pairs of eyes staring holes clean through him, Paul didn't know what to think, and for once in his life he didn't care. _Everything has always been about something else man, and now it's your time._

"What have you got in mind?" Ashley asked. As she looked to Carter and Katherine, Ashley nodded emphatically to make her point.

"You really want to do this?" Paul responded.

"There's safety in numbers," Katherine forced herself to say, "and we all trust each other."

"Trust is something we need," Carter said softly, "we just..."

"Good," Paul said as he pointed into the air emphatically, "I know, I know this. All right, I know this. They wanted a war, let's give them a war, but let's take back the advantage and put it on our side. They've got the superior firepower, we're pissed off and determined, but that still ain't enough. Let's take this to our home turf."

Pulling Lexie's pistol from his belt, Paul quickly thrust it into Carters as he pulled the rifle from the boy's shoulder.

"Start, just start running. Start running and make your way back to the mess hall, we know it and we can defend it. We're going to make our stand there," Paul said with increasingly wild eyes.

"And what's the rifle for?" Ashley asked.

"If I can get a clear shot through these trees, I'm going to take them out," Paul said honestly, "if I cannot, then I'll make sure they'll follow me like the pied piper."

Lifting their dropped backpacks from the ground, Paul tossed Carter and Katherine their bags.

"Run, just, start running, run and get back to the base and get the hell out of here," Paul said as he quickly levered a fresh round into his rifle's chamber. With little argument aside from a cursory nod, Carter and Katherine drew their guns and started a quick jog through the jungle. Lingering behind for a moment longer than she should have, Ashley gave the boy a hopeful wink.

"Just don't do anything stupid," she said as she ran off into the jungle behind the young lovers.

_Man she's got a hot ass._ Turning his attention back to the rifle, Paul sighted the weapon and leveled it off towards the harbor. Joel and Katie remained crouched over debris, sifting through the still flaming pieces in a search for god knew what. Weapons? Ammunition? Food? Sex toys? Paul didn't have the time or the gumption to even try to guess what either of those two monsters was trying to do.

_Doing this isn't going to bring Simon back Paul. Yeah, he never really left, but he's also never going to walk again. He's never going to shoot hoops again. He's never going to be your hero again because he just can't do a damn thing anymore besides wish he was dead. It wasn't your fault what happened there, even though you'll still wind up blaming yourself for it all, but now might make it a little bit better. Neither of these assholes had anything to do with what happened to him, but it doesn't matter now. Do or die time. Time to prove you're worth something. Sometimes it takes a victory, sometimes a defeat, and sometimes it takes killing the bad guys to do it. It's time to prove it._

Waiting a few moments more to make sure that the other three had significant time to run away, Paul untied the orange strap of fabric from his shoulder. As long as he had been in the game that piece of fabric represented hope and revolution. Now it was the sign of a lost cause, but one he was still willing to fight for. Unwrapping the cloth, he tied it so that it would cover his mouth like a bandanna and aimed the rifle one more time. _Come on, make the shot, make the shot..._

BLAM!

He fired a shot that sailed wide and missed both Katie and Joel, but their reaction told him everything he needed to know. They got the signal.

BLAM! BLAM!

For some reason he wasn't quite sure of, Paul began to miss them on purpose. Something inside that had regulated what common sense he possessed snapped, giving him the desire to bring the fight up close and personal. _Yeah, they're going to like this. It's time to make this real personal._ Laughing and smiling and crying out to the world, Paul unleashed several more shots in the approaching villains general direction as he shouted a fallen war cry to the world.

"SAAAAAAAAABRE!"

Nothing was going to be the same.


	68. Hour 63: 7 Contestaints Remaining

Hour 63

7 Contestants Remaining

The harbor lay silent, its remains now a solemn graveyard of death and destruction. It was too soon for the vultures and other carrion birds to descend upon the scattered, bullet-riddled remains of the SABRE escape team, but not too soon for the flies. They were lazy, maybe only a few dozen had caught the scent of rotting flesh as the afternoon sun began to beat down upon the remains, but more would come for sure. If there was one constant on this island, it was that no matter how things changed, it was that death and decay always remained.

Silently creeping through the ruins of a time long past, The Demon eyed the scene. It had heard the fracas from far away and almost regretted not being around for the party. _No, no, no, that would not have been good though, not one bit, there's more firepower between them than even you could face. You know those sounds, it's the redhead and her pet, taking them both on in open court without cover of dark or rain even with our skills is suicide._

Shaking the thoughts off slightly, it crouched low as it practically crawled through the remains of the harbor with distinct caution. What had once been a boy now moved almost like a feral animal, movements quick and short yet nearly silent. Opting for mobility over lethality, the creature clenched Elena's flat-bladed screwdriver in its hand, holding it to the side and ready to strike at a moment's notice. _No one here, none at all, they've run off._

It could hear more gunfire in the distance as the battle continued. _That one's not from either of our equals unless they've gotten new arms, but let's assume that not to be the case. The battle rages on between them and the lesser, and when it comes to time when they have purged this island of those not up to par, we must keep the fight fair. We must keep the fight fair and must have a worthy one to end this all, but to do it..._

Finally reaching the debris field, the creature searched about quickly for anything resembling a firearm. For the longest time on the island a good, solid gun was something it had hoped to see and procure for the longest time, but thus far all the chances that made themselves available had been for long guns that required two hands, and for a creature with only one it would be difficult at best. _A pistol, a pistol is all we ask for. A submachine gun even we could manage, Uzi, MAC-10, anything, anything but what would make us uneven._

It wasn't that the creature truly needed a gun, but it would have made the situation one hell of a lot more equal. If not to fight off those it considered peers, to make sure to even the field if just in the slightest. _What is this, you want to win this game now? You can't win, you can barely stand without wavering, we must do this for the best of all! But then there were good doctors, there's probably better doctors now, just, don't chance it, we might be able to do this after all, there may be victory in the cards, just, no, not this, you're getting soft, we lost the good long ago, just, no, we must think of what is best here, not in the case of, no, not our survival. You're thinking of other people, just ignore it, no, no good, we're no good, lost it, just, don't, just, don't, don't..._

* * *

It was one of the many places that Damien had never conceived he would see the inside of within his lifespan. Along with the location of the holy grail and the Playboy mansion, the mangled boy never thought he'd find himself within the building's walls, but for the right price and the right reason, Damien was more than willing to find himself within a tuxedo shop getting sized up for prom. 

"Would you like to view our corsage collection sir?" the clerk asked Damien with a slight grimace as her eyes drifted across his tattered countenance.

"No thanks," Damien replied with his crooked smile, "they're pre-selling corsages to pick up at prom itself, keeps kids from smuggling in most of their drugs."

"All right," the woman said as she checked off a box on the sheet, "I'll be right back with a catalogue, just let Courtney finish up with your... measurements."

As the sales clerk disappeared in back, while Damien could only laugh. Far too many times people had seen his face and shuddered, and while it may have affected him to some extent before, as he stood on the

"It had been a wonderful evening," Damien randomly quoted to his friend that sat off to the side, "and what I needed now, to give it the perfect ending, was a little of the Freddie Mercury."

"Wait a second," AJ replied as he looked up from his bag of chips, "you want to end off a romantic evening with Queen?"

"Why not?" Damien asked in return as the tailor ran a bit of measuring tape across his chest.

"I don't know if operatic music led by a guy who died of a sexually transmitted disease is exactly something you'd use to put a lady in the mood," AJ replied with a shrug, "but seeing as how you've actually touched a girl and I'm relegated to what I can find in magazines and Lands End catalogs I shouldn't be complaining."

"Damn straight," Damien said with a nod, "it's my moment of victory and you should be happy for the both of us, it's a victory for all us nerds out there when one of us gets together with someone as, well, someone like Lenore."

"At least one of us nerd crew out there is finding some success," AJ lamented.

"Hey, you'll get your chance some day," Damien said as his voice reached an octave higher. _Damn inseam measurements._

"Trust me," Damien continued as he turned around to face his friend, "if _I_ could get a girl like Lenore missing half my face like this, you've probably got an even better chance at it than I do. Well, than I did."

"Still feeling the wrath?" AJ brought up with certain hesitation.

Scowling slightly, Damien couldn't help but retreat to his thoughts, unfortunate though they may be. _Brat Pack bitches, can't give a guy, can't give a guy an even chance. I'm a monster, they make fun of me. I'm charming, they make fun of me. I land a pretty girl, they turn it up a notch._

"Just a little bit," he lied. If anything, everything had only gotten worse. More than anything else, Damien would have liked to have all the simple perks of a normal high school relationship. _Just like old times, right? You don't think you can remember but you still know her face._ Unfortunately, with a face and physique like his it just wasn't going to happen. No matter where they went together they'd be on the receiving end of odd stares and hushed whispers. The Brat Pack's attacks had gone from irritating to downright hostile (though maybe it had to deal with the fact that he hospitalized most of their boyfriends and got them kicked off the team, but Damien wasn't one to speculate), with threatening letters, phone messages and propaganda forced his way. Lenore seemed to be taking it particularly hard, but all in all Damien wasn't one to complain. _Good humor and you can make it all through this. Don't let him out again, don't let the monster free, don't become the Demon they mock and all will be well. Just, just be strong because Lenore can not be. Just be what they don't want and you will win._

"So you think I should go with a tie or a vest?" Damien asked as he changed the subject.

"Think you can really pull off a bow tie?" AJ shrugged, "Doesn't seem to fit you."

"Vest it is then," Damien said with a flinch as the electronic buzz of his cellular phone pulled all attention he had away from the task at hand.

"Toss it here man," Damien said as AJ rifled through his friends backpack. Though AJ's toss was clumsy, Damien's sole hand was deft and grabbed the small electronic device from midair. Quickly flipping out the aerial and pressing the Send button, Damien lifted it up to his ear.

"Damien, talk to me," he said, his optimistic and happy face soon turning to a scowl and morphing into a grimace, "Lenore, what? What is it, wait, stop crying. What, wait. Wait. Wait. WHAT?"

With a fury unknown since the time he broke the jocks with that parking meter, Damien Myers tossed his cell phone against the wall. Gouging a large chunk of drywall out as it impacted, the device shattered into what looked to be a million pieces. His face showing only pure, seething anger and vengeance, Damien stormed from the shop with enough force to throw the establishment's door off its hinge.

"Damien, what is it?" AJ protested as his friend stormed off. For his part, Damien's rage had taken over and blocked out all the world except what was at hand.

_For God's sake, this isn't right. Why'd it, why'd it have to happen? Why'd they do it to her, now, don't, no, don't let it out, calm down, stay calm... don't, don't let it go..._

* * *

Damien met Lenore in her hospital room, and for lack of a better word she looked horrible. She'd been beaten up with a face swollen all sorts of purple, left hand in a cast with a broken wrist. Her body was no doubt covered in similar bruises, and although Damien couldn't see them under her street clothes, he was almost certain that similar marks covered her body as well. That wasn't the worst part though, no, the worst was the pure sadism that had been put into the attack on her. An attack like any other, a mugging like the rest of them, that would be fine compared to what they did... instead whoever did this mutilated her. It was not mutilation in the most extreme physical extents, nor was it one that would scar her for life, but it would leave a lasting and unfortunate impression. _They... they cut it off, they just... cut it off._

Her hair. Damien could not believe that whoever did it, whoever the sick bastard that perpetrated the attack had cut off almost all of Lenore's hair. What was once a bountiful head of obsidian locks that seemed to frame her face almost angelically was no longer. Now it was a tattered mess of black hair that fell haphazardly around her face, and given her eyes swollen from tears it was almost impossible to look at her. Almost. Words escaped Damien as he simply eyed his girlfriend and wondered what to say. All he knew was an odd combination of rage and confusion, and neither was winning the day.

"I don't know what happened," Lenore said painfully as she tried not to cry, "it all happened so fast. I was mugged, that's all I know. I had a purse, I was knocked down, I was forced to the ground. I don't know why or what, it was just, just too fast, it was like an animal. It was like I was being attacked by a monster, it wasn't human, it was so hard, it was so brutal."

Looking intently to the girl, the words escaped Damien. _Kill 'em, you know you want to, just hunt down who did it and find them and make them wish they'd never been born._

"I never knew someone was capable of that," Lenore continued as she looked shell-shocked to the ground, "I never thought I'd say I was glad they knocked me out, but they saved me a lot of grief because of it. I don't want to remember what happened to me tonight, and I'm glad I won't have to."

_She lies, she knows all of what happened and she knows it's all your fault._ _I didn't do none of this, this was just something crazy and random and crazier than me._

"You know they even had to test me for sexual assault?" Lenore said with a forced laugh, "I was knocked down, beat up and robbed, and they have to test me to see if I was raped. RAPED! I was just robbed, I wasn't violated, but because I dress like I do they said they had to double check, they had to make sure whoever did this didn't also take my innocence. Like I wasn't humiliated enough, they have me stand in front of a wall and take off my clothes so they can take pictures of my injuries and know what in all happened. 'Oh sure, we're doing this to catch you, we don't mind that you just want to take a shower and get this over with, we have to march you in front of a camera and make sure every square inch of you can get out on the internet.' I just, I just want it over. I didn't know we had people capable of that in our town like this, I just thought we had people, ordinary people."

Reaching for a glass near her hospital bed, Lenore took a sip of water through a straw.

"I just thought that all the bad stuff was left to the big cities, but we've got evil here too. People don't have their priorities right anymore, it's all about the violence and cruelty, it's gotten to the point where it's spilling into our little town," Lenore continued, "I didn't think it could happen here, not like this. They said they probably won't even be able to find the guy without any evidence. I got knocked down on a city sidewalk in broad daylight and there was no evidence, no witness, I could have been attacked by a ghost or monster for all they care."

She looked pleadingly into Damien's eyes for some sort of solace, instead catching eyes that were full of more hate than any sympathy.

"Can't you say anything?" she asked, "Can't you just say something, anything? You've been through trauma before, you of all people I thought I could talk to. I gave you all I had and you're sitting here silently, and I just want to know what the hell is going on in your head. Please, just tell me this is going to be all right, please tell me that I'll get over this. You manage so well, please, just, please tell me what is going on."

Damien sighed. He knew he could go any number of ways. _Lie to her, just lie and tell her what she wants to hear and it'll make everything all right faster. No, we can't do that, not to her, it isn't right, she deserves the truth._

"I don't remember much of what happened to me," Damien reiterated from their earlier conversations, "but I can say for certain that I carry it with me every day. It's something I will never be able to avoid because it is a part of me, but I don't let it define me. The accident may have changed my life and my face forever, and there's so many things I will never be able to do because of it, but at the same time I also realize that life is life. I live every moment for what it is, since I honestly don't know how many moments I'm going to have left in life. Never forget what happened, but don't let it become who you are. You can't let life get in the way of living."

Looking into her eyes and watching as her lip quivered, Damien quickly added, "But I don't know if that's the right thing to say given everything, I don't know much of anything a lot of the ti-"

He was broken off as Lenore painfully threw her arms around him in a warm and powerful hug. What little restraint she had in terms of crying had disappeared entirely, her simple tears now an open sobbing as she cried on Damien's shoulder. _She's like the one before, all tears, but this one won't kill you because of them..._

"Am I ugly?" she sobbed into his ear.

Trying to comfort her, Damien remained honest, "Well, it's a little bit of a fixer upper now, but you'll always be beautiful to me."

Catching the first genuine laugh to escape Lenore's lips, Damien couldn't help but smile.

"You think I could still do prom?" she stammered.

"That's up to you I guess," Damien replied, "right now you need to focus on getting better and recovering."

"I still want to go," she cried, "I still, I still want to live my life. I... I want to do this."

Whispering gently into her ear as he held her close, Damien replied with words that he would eventually regret, "Then I'll be there with you."

* * *

The joint was hardly hopping, but all in all that was pretty much the point. Damien wanted to get there as early as possible, as much for Lenore as it was for him. He hated crowds, she was still self conscious about going out after the attack (even if it had been three weeks ago and she'd done more than her share of recovering since), but all in all arriving early seemed to work out for the best for all of them. All in all he even didn't mind the monkey suit. They got it fit right and accompanied his stump rather nicely... 

Despite all of it, there was something about the night that he didn't find quite right. Right from the start he'd found the members of the Brat Pack almost crowded together in one far corner of the dance hall looking at him and shooting cautious gazes his way. Well, most of them at least; Dora stood off to the side with a soda, but the rest of them eyed him almost conspiratorially. Surprisingly though, they'd been all but cordial to him in passing. No threats, no taunts, but an actual hello and even a "How's your evening?" from Cheryl. That one surprised him to no end.

And then there was Lenore. Lenore had become almost _too_ insistent over the past weeks about prom's importance. She made it seem as if the world revolved around her receiving some sense of normalcy again, spending most of her time with the rest of the Swim Six planning every detail out. Then again, he was rather certain "planning things out" probably translated to them trying to talk her out of dating him, but Damien wasn't one to argue a good thing.

Part of him just wanted her to wait and just try and get her life back in order before doing anything as big as prom. _Just, wait a bit, have things calm down, see if they can find the guy who did this to you before you do anything that's bound to be a memory. I know, I've been through things like this, you try and jump in too quickly with a life in shambles and it won't work, it'll screw you up more than you were screwed up before. Then again, we can't remember before, now can w-_

"Hey stranger," her voice said soothingly from behind. Damien turned around to see the girl he had expected, and found one who looked almost nothing like her. Though Lenore had been on the path to recovery, she was still far from what anyone would call exemplary condition. Her face was still a mess of bruises in place (most of which had just recently begun to fade into the skin) and the stitches she'd received to her face were still healing in places, but otherwise she still looked pretty cute. In waiting for prom, Damien had expected to see her looking decent enough. What he hadn't been prepared for was how she actually looked.

Her face was almost unrecognizable, as now she had the radiant beauty that she possessed before the attack. Her smile was back, dental work obviously having been done as it showed none of the teeth she had fractured. Her skin was almost flawless, obviously made up, but still looking better than he could ever recall, and of course there was her hair. Three weeks didn't give it that much time to grow out, but all at once she had it styled rather nicely. The ragged look he'd seen in the hospital was gone, now styled up in such a way that made her look much like a 30's lounge singer. Well, one with a slight cast covering most of her wrist, but she got it painted to match her red gown rather nicely in such a way that it perfectly complimented the glove she wore on her other hand.

"Wow," was all Damien could manage to get out.

"Like the makeover?" she asked with a bit of a twirl as she let her gown billow outwards.

"That's just, wow," Damien said dumbstruck as she tentatively took his hand in hers, "how did you, I mean, wow, whoever you went to did a good job."

"I did some asking around," she said a bit self-consciously with eyes cast to the ground, "Lindsay's uncle does makeup and reconstructive work over at Richard Smith's Funeral Home, and he was more than willing to oblige."

"You went to get your makeup done at a funeral home?" Damien asked incredulously.

"It gets results," Lenore said with the softest of smiles, "I had to go through his worship for Steve Austin for about an hour, but it was well worth it. I haven't felt this beautiful in a while, and to be able to get all dolled up for something like prom here is very nice."

"You are very beautiful, yes," Damien replied with suddenly shy eyes, "gorgeous I might even say, makes me feel like I'm overreaching my bound. Makes me wish I could do something about my face too so I wouldn't embarrass you."

"Hey," she said with a good-natured poke to the boy's shoulder, "what do I keep telling you about that? I don't give a damn what you look like, I give a damn about who you are, all right? If I can make a smile on a night like this after everything that's happened you can too. This is a coming out party for both of us. Now are you going to kiss me or aren't ya?"

Given the seemingly withdrawn behavior that he had known from her over the last few weeks, her cheery attitude caught Damien off guard. Then again, with all the bad that had come, he was more than willing to just take life as it happened and go in the moment.

"For a lady as elegant as yourself, always," Damien said with his best smile as he gently took her cast-covered hand in his own and kissed the back of it.

"Such a gentleman," Lenore said as she touched her free hand to her dress, "come on, let's dance."

Damien was hardly one to argue as she dragged him out onto the dance floor, doing his best to move in motion to the girl. _Yeah, that's right, you didn't tell her that you don't know how to dance now did you? Ah well, if she can excuse your face, she can excuse this too now can't she?_

The DJ had a decidedly out of date taste that Damien found to be refreshing amidst all the gangsta rap he'd heard booming from all other school affairs. This one favored mostly 80's and before dance music, or if not dance music itself, music that could actually be danced to. As they made their way onto the sparsely populated floor (early as it was, people were still beginning to funnel in), Damien did his best to move in time with the girl as he blared Stevie Wonder's "Superstitious." Clumsy though he was, Lenore didn't seem to mind that Damien couldn't dance, or at the very least she didn't let it show. Well, that, or maybe the low lighting helped him out. Either way, he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. _She's too beautiful, there's something, it just, why? Why did you deserve something like this? The eyes are watching you, look out. Sheila you deserved before all this, but now, not now, why now?_

After nearly twenty minutes on the dance floor and feeling more than a bit tired, Damien decided to call for a brief time out, if just to catch his breath, "Hey, I need a breather."

Walking off the floor, Damien found a seat at an abandoned table and propped himself out. Lenore was soon to follow, grabbing a chair of her own and seeming hardly the worse for wear. _That's right, she's been out dancing at parties half her time here in high school, don't seem so surprised._

"Are you out of breath?" she asked with a smile.

"No," Damien responded.

"You're out of breath," she said definitively.

"I don't think so," he shot back.

"You're tired," she responded.

"I don't think I am," Damien replied.

"Then why are you out of breath?" Lenore asked.

"I don't know," Damien responded wistfully, "I think I'm happy."

Getting out of her chair, Lenore crept over onto his lap and planted a soft kiss on Damien's lips.

"How about now?" she asked.

"I think I'm in heaven," he replied with a crooked smile. _You forgot something, didn't you?_

"Oh, wait!" he said as he got up from his chair and accidentally pushed her off to the side, "I got something, I have something for you, just, wait right here, all right?"

"You do?" she asked.

"Two seconds," he said, wait right here. _The eyes are following you, watch out._

Making his way back towards the entrance of the hall, Damien looked about with great confusion. _Where is it, where would it be? You saw it earlier yet you ignored it, just, ah yes, there it is!_

Walking up to the booth recessed within the hall's walls (though it was once a concession stand it had for the sake of the night been adapted to a vendor's booth), Damien deftly fished his school ID from his wallet and showed it to the operator behind the counter. With a nod and few audible words (with the music as high as it was Damien couldn't make much out), the boy retrieved the corsage he had paid for in advance. It's plastic display case was opaque and showed little, but all in all it should have offered more of a surprise when Lenore would open it. Even a peek inside proved to him that the flowers were beautiful, and would look even better on Lenore's wrist. _Christ, I should've gotten this to her beforehand, they shouldn't have to give them to us here. Stupid kids smuggling in drugs in corsages, makes all our lives so damn miserab-_

"Hey Damien!" Cheryl Palmer said enthusiastically as she bounded on over to him through the crowd. With Ayane, Dora and Serenity shortly behind her in a flanking position, Damien was more nervous and apprehensive than anything else, but all things considered her smile seemed rather genuine and he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"We need someone to take our picture, do you mind?" she asked rather sweetly. _No, don't do it, all they put you through, just fuck 'em, don't give 'em heed._

"Sure, no problem," Damien said in an effort to be nice. Looking around rather desperately for a place to set his corsage down, Damien found a free table behind him and then turned his back on it to look to the girls. Cheryl gratefully placed the camera in his now free hand and positioned herself between Ayane and a rather nervous Dora.

"Come on, we shouldn't do this," Dora said.

"Oh it's just a picture," Cheryl said with a bit of a giggle as she shook her head.

"Shouldn't Brynn be in this?" Damien asked. _It'd only make sense if they're gonna get the whole axis of evil._

"Oh, she's around," Cheryl said with even more of a giggle as her eyes cast themselves behind him for the slightest of moments, "but let's get one like we are now."

"All right, say cheese," Damien said sarcastically as he took a shot of the four girls as they did their best mugging for the camera.

"Thanks," Cheryl said with forced sincerity as she retrieved her camera, "you made my night."

Shaking his head as the girls wandered off back into the crowd with a frightening giggle, Damien retrieved the corsage case he had set down on the table and made his way back to Lenore.

"Here, I forgot to get this for you earlier," Damien said with a bit of a smile, "I got here early and it just slipped my mind."

"Oh Damien!" she said as she took the plastic case from his hand, "Thank you so much!"

"It was nothing," Damien replied nonchalantly as she pulled the ribbon from the case, "I just thought it would look good on you, you know?"

As she opened the plastic case with eager anticipation, something inside her seemed to turn itself off. What had once been a face of pure happiness had transformed itself into a look of slight confusion mixed with fear. Damien tried to grasp her reaction, but didn't quite understand what it all meant. _Great, you got the wrong things, you insulted her, you just made one hell of a night._

"What's wrong?" Damien asked with half a smile as she stared with wide eyes upon the plastic corsage case, "wrong flowers?"

Instead of responding, she sat by in shock with mouth agape as she looked upon the case.

"No, no," she muttered in pure fear, "no, you, no, you couldn't. You lost control... No, this isn't, no, no, it's not..."

"Not what?" Damien asked as his smile faded away. Her response was still stunned silence, but as she dropped the case he could see what it was all about. He could see what it was that caused her happiness to turn to bitter fear.

Hair. It was her hair. Somehow, someone had put her hair inside the case. Whoever did it even put one of the nice plastic handles so that it would even act as a corsage should Lenore have wished to put it around her wrist. The hair corsage, never before had such a sick joke been known as far as Damien was concerned.

"Wait," Damien said quickly with his hand outstretched, "I didn't-"

"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" she shrieked, jumping up from the table and clambering away with a face that reflected nothing but pure fear. With eyes full of tears and darting around wildly, Lenore looked around to make an escape.

"WAIT!" Damien yelled back as she pushed her way past a couple of students dancing, "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

"HELP!" Lenore cried out as Damien grabbed her by the wrist, "SOMEBODY HELP!"

As a security guard made his way through the crowd and approached them, Damien pulled Lenore close, "Look, I didn't do it, I didn't do anything!"

"Just get away from me!" she shrieked back in his face, "I can't believe, why? Just stay the fuck away from me!"

"Hey, hey, break it up," the security guard said simply as he forcibly separated the two, "now what's the problem here?"

"He attacked me!" she blurted out, "he, he tried to, god, he tried to..."

"I didn't do anything!" Damien yelled back.

The security guard eyed the boy up and down for less than a moment before instantly discounting him. _No, you're supposed to listen! This isn't how it's supposed to be! What's wrong here?_

"Look young man, I think we should talk this over someplace a bit more quiet," the guard said as he waved a couple of his associates over with one hand and put another over Damien's shoulder, "we don't want this going south now do we?"

"No," Damien responded with anger growing, "no, Lenore, I didn't do this! I didn't do that, I wouldn't, YOU KNOW ME!"

_She won't forgive, she doesn't care, she's like all the rest, she let you down you let her down, someone is working the evils of this school, just, no, it's all gone, no, it's down, just, quiet, just, no..._

As her tears increased and she cowered away onto the dance floor, the guard tried to pull Damien away. Instead, the anger that built in the wiry boy exploded in a fit of rage even he didn't know to be possible. The guard, though nearly twice Damien's size, was thrown to the floor as if he were nothing. The two approaching guards hastened their speed and grabbed the boy around the shoulders and waist as they hauled him bodily from the dance floor.

Thrash as he might, he was no match for the mighty guards as they lifted him away. They pulled him towards the exit as he spat and raved to the sky, focusing his sights on the girl he thought he'd give everything to as she disappeared from sight.

"PLEASE," he pleaded, "I WOULDN'T DO THAT!"

For the slightest of moments, Lenore's face seemed to fade into the darkness as the crowd absorbed her. As her teary eyes disappeared, five pairs made themselves more than clear, each accompanied by their own laughter.

Cheryl with those teeth of a wolf.

Dora looking decidedly mournful and innocent all things considered.

Serenity looking decidedly parasitic with her stupid eyes.

Ayane's pitifully drunk gaze looking as if she'd just awoken from a very long slumber.

Brynn with fangs that would rival a bat.

_They did this, no, those bitches, those creatures, they did this! THEY DID THIS! THEY DID THIS TO ME! THOSE BITCHES! THOSE FUCKING BITCHES! I'LL KILL THEM ALL!_

Focusing his energies away from his thrashing about, Damien let his eyes find Lenore one last time. Her eyes were pleading and fearful, a look that had been completely foreign to him since he had known her.

"I didn't do this!" Damien shouted to the retreating yet teary Lenore, "YOU KNOW ME! YOU KNOW ME!"

* * *

They let him go. 

It shocked more than a few people around Braiwood High School, but Damien "The Demon" Myers was set free by the local police department. It didn't take long for the evidence to clear things through with the attack, given the fact that Damien had not only a solid alibi (being with AJ for the better portion of the day), but that the handprint bruised in the back of Lenore's neck was from a left handed person, and, well, Damien had none. That one got the charges thrown out quickly, but it was not enough to overturn the damages...

How'd the hair get in that corsage case? That was the big question, the one the police had agonized over and pushed him on. Always asking if he knew, always asking who could have done it. A good part of Damien, that voice of reason he always seemed to share with another, wanted to shout it out to the world. _Tell them, just scream it out! Ayane, Brynn, Cheryl, Dora, Serenity! It's all their fault, all of it was because of them, put them in jail._ Then there was the part of him that knew better. Something intangible, something he couldn't quite figure out. It was a voice he was familiar with, but one that he'd only usually associated with anger and wrath. It would reach up from within him and speak during the days. The beast he wanted to control he could no longer. _The Demon they made they now released and now they must face the consequences because of it. You know it all, you've known it all since they let us free and adopted us. They were forming you up for moments like this, and it just took the bitches to give us a voice. The bitches they gave us a voice, and our time of reckoning will come to a head._

Shaking his head, Damien tried to keep the thoughts from taking over.

"Stay cool man," he whispered as he set his head on the kitchen table, "just stay, stay cool, you can't let this happen, you can't let it happen again. You've done it up, just, you can't do this man. Let's just, breath, just, breath."

"Are you all right Damien?" a gravelly female voice uttered from across the room. Mrs. Maureen Bailey, he'd have known that voice anywhere. Although she'd signed the adoption papers to pick up a mangled and charred boy like he was in the wake of the accident, and although she'd always been there, Damien couldn't help but feel some distance between her and him. _There's no family, no connection and you know it, they took you in for their own reasons._

"I'm fine, just, I'm fine," he said, "I've just, just got a headache."

"You remember what the doctors said about the headaches," she responded, "you have to take better care of yourself, you can't it continue like this or you really could lose it again."

"I'm doing fine," Damien lied, "it's just been a lot of stress with prom and the police, and... stuff."

"You really should stop trying to call that girl," she said simply as she sorted through the mail, "it's not going to do either of you any good."

"Duly noted," Damien replied as he tried to tone down the headache that was beginning to form. He'd lied about it at first, but the mere thought of... her, it just brought up way too much pain. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to hear what she had to say, just wanted to clear the air over too many things that needed to be cleared, but she wasn't answering the phone. No matter how many calls he made she just would not let it through. He tried to visit, but she'd be busy and unavailable. Lenore no longer meant tenderness, Lenore no longer meant beauty, the mere thought of her meant pain, yet not thinking of her brought about even more pain. As far as Damien was concerned, it was a lose-lose situation.

"Hey, got a package for you," Mrs. Bailey said as she tossed a thick envelope in front of Damien, "it looks like it's about Grad Nite."

"You honestly think I've got any interest in Grad Nite after all of that?" Damien laughed, "People treat me like I'm sort of crazed mass murderer when I did nothing, and you honestly think I want to go to Grad Nite?"

"Give it a shot," she said with a forced smile, "your stepfather and I have pulled you some strings, you won't have to pay for it. Games, dancing, and a free ride with Phoenix Bus Lines."

With a start, Damien sat up. _The word, that word it has power even greater than us. That word they taught us at the accident, the word they made sure we would know for the time and place when all would change. That's the cue. Take the guilty try to spare the innocent and this will all even itself out._

"You might want to try Grad Nite out," she insisted, "we also got a few extra tickets so you could invite whoever you want to join in on the festivities. You know what that means, right?"

"Yes," Damien quickly fired back, "I do."

"Good," she replied with another smile as she lit up a cigarette and prepared to leave the room, "I hope you think hard about who you want to invite."

"I will, yes," Damien said simply as he looked at the package. Ripping it open with one hand as soon as he was sure Mrs. Bailey left the room, he found one of the bus tickets with his name printed at the top in addition to five that were name free. 'PICK FIVE FRIENDS AND RETURN TICKETS COMPANY SO THEY CAN ENJOY!' the letter read. _So it read, you know what it really means though, you know what this always meant. ABCDS must go. They made you for this, but the guilty ones conditioned you for what you need. Should we warn her? Would that do any good? No, musn't do it, just let the night, no, just, no, you can't, we have to, just do it, please, why don't we..._

Getting up from his seat, Damien quickly picked up the cordless phone from its cradle and dialed in a quick and memorized succession of numbers. With a click, the other side picked up and Damien found himself greeted with a familiar voice.

"AJ, hey, it's me. I need a favor, well, two actually. I need you to make me an arm, and, yeah, that's what I want, and do you still have that old ghetto blaster? Good. I'm going to do something stupid, really, really stupid."

* * *

On more than a few occasions before Damien had called upon the technical and building skills of AJ Takagaki to build him a temporary arm for special occasions. Lacking the dexterity to build anything himself of such a nature, Damien was always glad when the need arose that he could have someone to make him an arm. It was true that his family did possess the resources and the funds to buy a prosthetic arm of pretty decent quality, but when all was said and done Damien would roundly refuse any and all opportunities to receive care. He was what he was, scarred and strange though he may be, but no one was going to deny him his individuality. No matter the taunts, no matter the threats, no matter the wrath of the Brat Pack, whatever the downsides he'd always had his individuality, and that's all that mattered. _Then she came like the one before and changed your priorities and you stopped looking out for yourself; you stopped looking out for yourself and let this all happen._

"I can make this right," Damien said as he harnessed the creation of wood, wire and plastic that AJ had created to his stump of an arm. Twisting it about he found it to work as well as could be expected. _Not a tight fit but it will serve its purpose._

With most of his mind focused on the task at hand, Damien did his best to block out the darkness that was creeping in. It was taking over, coming up with a voice of its own that he could hear ringing in his ears, but for Lenore, he could not let it out. _I can't let Lenore see you again, we're inseparable now, but maybe I can make this right before everything is going to go bad..._

Placing the Peter Gabriel CD in AJ's aged ghetto blaster, Damien cued up the song that he hoped would get Lenore to give him a second look. As he pressed play, he brought the stereo over his head in both hands and turned the volume up high. Looking to her window, he hoped upon all hopes that she would see him. For her sake, she had to see... _It worked in the movie, what's to say it cannot work now? She loves the movie, In Your Eyes, she loves the song too, just get her attention and you can spare her, don't and it is all for naught and she'll be worse off than even you appear now. She started it all, she won't cast a second glance and she'll throw you off like the res- no, we can do this, Lenore is not one of them, she'll know this..._

Looking to her window which remained undisturbed as he stood on the sidewalk like a fool in love, Damien muttered, "Come on Lenore, open up, please. Please just open up."

_She proves me right and you know it, she's like the rest and will suffer as they will, ignore the sow. No, not yet, she's, she's good, she's one of the good, she's not one of them. But what would she think of us if we got free again? Those harpies made me and you think that just one good girl's gonna change this around! They didn't know what they were starting, they didn't know what they started us on the path to. They wanted a demon, THEY GOT ONE!_

With hope almost entirely disappeared, Damien looked to the upper floors of the small suburban home in time to see Lenore's window open. _Thank you god, just, thank you._

* * *

Finally reigning in the thoughts that proved more distracting than anything else, the creature continued about its task. Damien and even maybe Charlie could put up a pretty good fight to try and take over, but in the end they were as weak as any and were no match for the Demon's might. _Think all you might what you will but I've got us now._

Sifting through the rubble and finding the process futile, the Demon prepared to leave. Given the hours winding down there seemed little point in dawdling much longer, it would just not be the wisest of moves. Survival had suddenly entered the creature's mind when before it was merely an afterthought. _These wounds are they mortal after all? Our body is not like other's, we survived worse before and we can survive even greater now. There is something about it that could allow for survival. We lost an arm before, had a piece of metal sticking clear through our skull, and still we managed to rip that shard from the leg and stab her to death._

Shaking its head in the confusion, the creature got back to its feet and tried to focus.

"There is a battle coming, the battle of all," the Demon said simply as it heard the gunfire continue in the distance, "and it is a battle that we must get in upon. One can come out of this, this one, must be one of us. If it cannot be us, let it be her or her dog, yes, of course."

Smiling that crooked smile that only The Demon could manage, the creature turned its back on the wreckage of the boat and ambled off towards the jungle. Catching a foot on a piece of wood, the monster looked down in an effort to kick it away. Something though, something made it difficult to kick away, be it some weight or a greater force holding it to the ground. No, no, this was something special, and for reasons beyond the Demon's understandings, it knew that it was no ordinary piece of wood. Casting its eyes to the ground, the creature could see it loudly and proudly.

It was a sledgehammer. Perfect condition even, maybe a bit burned and scratched up, but if one were to discount the matted hair and blood that covered the tip it was certainly a formidable and quality weapon. Sliding the screwdriver from his hand into the back of his belt, the creature grabbed the staff of the sledgehammer and lifted it experimentally. It was a heavy and ungainly weapon, nothing that could compare to the blades that he had known throughout the game, but it would most certainly do in a pinch. With a smile that threatened to split its face in half (almost literally considering the creature's condition), the Demon grasped the end of the hammer's staff as it dragged the weapon through the jungle. With the acquisition of such a fine and deadly weapon, what concern it had with finding a gun had all but disappeared. No matter what, no matter how, those that crossed its path would find blood.

"Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time," the Demon mused, "I feel alive, and the world it's turning inside out, I'm floating around in ecstasy, so don't stop me now..."


	69. Hour 64: 7 Contestants Remaining

Hour 64

7 Contestants Remaining

Boy # 1, Carter James, was afraid. During his entire time during the Battle Royale, he had known no fear. Sure, there were the opening hours when all life was sheer terror, but then Homer came around and replaced all he'd known in the world with unconsciousness. After that it was pure bliss, waking up next to the girl of his dreams and as a part of the resistance movement to get out of the game. With conditions such as those, he had no reason to be afraid. Even when things were going bad, even when things were going downhill, he remained optimistic.

_It's all that damned crate's fault._

If it hadn't been for that damned crate, then everyone would have been around, everyone would have managed to survive this thing. They'd all have been able to just camp out in the mess hall and just wait until they could figure out how to get the belts off, wait and then they'd all make it out alive. Splitting up, that was the crazy thing. Splitting up had caused them all the trouble that the game had given them. It was like some crazy plot twist in a bad horror flick just to take them apart so the monster could divide and conquer. They shouldn't have broken up. Then they'd be eleven, _we'd be eleven and we'd all be alive. The general was lying, we had them, we had this beat, they just lied because they were proud. We HAD this!_

"We haven't heard any shots in a while," Girl # 4, Katherine Farraday, broke in, "maybe he didn't make it."

"Don't underestimate him," Girl # 5, Ashley Vasquez, shot back, "Paul's a tough one, tougher than you'd know. He's gonna make it back here."

"Yeah?" Katherine asked nervously, "How do you know?"

"Because he sat behind an old wheel without moving more than a foot in any direction for almost a day out of the sheer will of survival," Ashley said, then adding, "he offered to give his own life up so Lexie and I could get out of there. He's all for us living, and he's not going to let us down. He may not be a great lay, but he's not one to let anyone down."

"Say what?" Katherine asked as the conversation continued. Looking upon the pair of girls as they squabbled back and forth, Carter realized that he could no longer hear anything. Ever since it all fell apart, everything in the world felt like its volume was turned down a bit, but now it seemed as everything was simply muted. _Things fall apart, the center cannot hold._

It had all just seemed to be so perfect, and now it had all gone to hell. Maybe going after Ashley and the rest had been the real fatal error, maybe saving her was the worst of ways to go about this all. _Should she just have been left alive? Would she have made it on her own? She would have, right? She would have made it on her own just fine, and then Katherine wouldn't hate you. She wouldn't hate you and you wouldn't be living this hell._

The change had come swiftly. Even the mere mention of leaving the safety of the mess hall and Katherine had gone from the one Carter cared for most in the world to the one Carter was most afraid of crossing. The bad guys, even imminent death, they seemed to pale in comparison to having slighted Katherine, and of everything he had done there seemed to be no way to forgive the situation. Maybe it would have been for the best not to know her, to not get involved. _You never had to be her hero because she never needed any rescuing. She was strong all along, while you were the weak one. You were the flawed one while she was the one to know what was going on._

A pounding sound pulled the world back to a volume that Carter could comprehend, and with the grinding of wood on wood, the front door to the mess hall swung wide open. A haggard and exhausted figure with an over-weighted backpack and a rifle in his hands stumbled through before quickly slamming the door back shut.

"They're coming," Boy # 12, Paul Holt proclaimed as he swung one of the pieces of rebar they'd stored by the door across its frame. It provided little, if any real protection against the forces of darkness that were soon to come, but ever the cautious one, Paul was frantic as he looked about the main dining hall for more reinforcements.

"You're sure they followed you?" Ashley asked as she pointed to the door with her shotgun.

"Damn right I am," Paul said energetically, "I was the frickin pied piper out there, led them on, fire off a shot when they got lost and they'd try to find me, but I was like a rabbit down there hiding low in the bushes going on fast and BAM got it here."

"We heard you stop shooting, we thought you were dead," Katherine continued.

"Ran out of ammo," Paul said simply.

"Carter, give him the rest of the bullets," Ashley responded bluntly. As the boy didn't move in quick enough time to what she wanted, Ashley walked on over to her friend, unzipping his backpack and reaching inside to toss Paul the box of remaining rifle bullets.

"Not much left," Ashley said as she sent the ammunition flying.

"I'll take what I can get," Paul responded with a smile as he caught the box and quickly started loading the remaining bullets into the weapon.

"How far off are they?" Katherine probed.

"A few minutes behind, more or less," Paul replied as he loaded the last of the rifle's bullets and chambered a round, "I gave them the slip but if they're smart, and they wouldn't be around right now if they weren't a bit smart, they'll get here in no time. They'll get here in no time and we'll show them what they get for being bad guys."

"We got time then," Ashley said as she quickly sheathed her shotgun and went to the nearest table, "come on guys, we need to block up all these windows, we don't want this to be a god damn turkey shoot."

Paul and Katherine were quick to amble over and grab the table along with Ashley, tipping the piece of furniture on its end as they placed it up against one of the more exposed windows. With most of the windows already boarded up to one extent or another, they still had more than their fair share of cover, but given the fact that there were still some expansive pieces of glass with nothing to hide behind, it was the only way to be sure.

"Carter," Ashley said as she strained against the next table with the others help, "we could use another set of hands here."

"I..." the boy trailed off into nothingness as he looked at their efforts and began to back against the wall, "I don't, I, I don't..."

"Look, two of the biggest, baddest sons of bitches this island's got are about to burst into the door and execute each and every one of us in the worst ways known to man, this is not a time to fall back and get your ass shot," Ashley practically spat out, "be cool man, we need you to be co-"

BAM!

The shotgun blast tore boards free from a window mere feet away from Katherine with enough force to send splinters tearing at her back. Howling in pain, the girl fell to the floor. With enough impetus to snap him out of his own mind, Carter cried out and jumped to her side. With a long staccato blast of AK-47 bullets and shotgun pellets, more glass and bits of wood flew apart as the windows were torn to shreds. Diving to the floor, the four huddled up close to the concrete walls as their only means of true protection, but even then some of the high powered bullets were strong enough to burst through the hollow cinder blocks of the corroding edifice.

With a break in the assault (probably because they were reloading outside), Paul smashed out the nearest boarded up window with the butt of his rifle and quickly rotated the gun to fit through the open slot. Taking his best aim at an awkward angle, Paul squared off a shot and fired.

Miss. _Damn._ Quickly levering off the next bullet and hoping to make it count, Paul fired in time to get a great scream of agony as he hit the jock square in the bicep. Quickly withdrawing his rifle as the girl let loose with another blast of the AK-47, Paul practically squealed with delight, "I got one!"

"Kill 'em?" Katherine yelled over the din of the gunfire.

"Doubt it, but it'll make 'em think harder!" he cried back enthusiastically. As quickly as the gunfire had restarted, it stopped dead, silent as ever. Despite the cursing and yelling of the jock on the other side, they could make out the faint impression of the girl speaking softly yet rapidly to him. Letting his eyes drift over the edge of a nearby window, Carter looked up just in time to see the girl stealthily take off along the edge of the building as the boy slung up his shotgun and brought a pistol into each hand.

"They're splitting, they're splitting up!" Carter said eagerly as he withdrew the pistol from his belt and subconsciously felt the ax sticking from his pack.

"Back door in the kitchen," Katherine said quickly as she got up and held her revolver high, "we gotta block off the back door!"

"Come on," Carter said with renewed energy as he got alongside Katherine, "we, we can take the back door, you guys, you guys take the front door?"

"Yeah," Ashley responded, "we can do that, you got your guns?"

"Sure do," Katherine said as she pulled back the hammer to her snub-nosed revolver.

"Cool," Ashley said. With quick thinking, she pulled Peter's police baton from the back of her belt and tossed it to Katherine who was more than willing to accept the weapon.

"Keep it for close encounters," Ashley shot out quickly, "now go!"

With a nod, Katherine prodded Carter in the shoulder with the baton as she ran off towards the kitchen. In quick succession, the boy followed.

"Think we should be leaving them to take on the library girl like that?" Paul asked.

"No clue," Ashley responded, "not a clue."

The pair just sat silently for a moment, cut off by another resounding set of blasts as a flurry of bullets blew the door halfway off its hinges. As the pair went about running for cover within the dining hall, a powerful kick sent the already damaged door all the way off its hinges.

"Honey," Boy # 23, Joel Giovanello yelled tauntingly, "I'm home!"

* * *

Mere seconds after the drooling beast that was Joel burst through the mess hall's entrance, his oddly paired counterpart opened up on the back door with the rattling of her AK-47. Meeting little resistance as she cautiously entered the kitchen, Girl # 2, Katie Snyder, looked about like an expert hunter with the assault rifle held high. Keeping her eye on the sights, she found nothing that one would find out of the ordinary in a kitchen, just a bunch of long, stainless steel tables and appliances, a massive row of sinks full of thirty-year-old dishes, and the slightest of smells that something wasn't right. Eyes drifting to the ceiling, she caught sight of a piece of duct tape that was somehow stuck to one of the sprinkler heads. Directly below it was a metal table with clots of blood on one edge and bloody drag marks on the floor beneath. _Bad things happened here..._

Catching a flash of blonde above one of the stainless steel tables, Katie let loose with a blast from her assault rifle with a shower of sparks as they ricocheted every which way. As a hand wielding a revolver quickly edged its way over the table and fired back, Katie ducked behind an oven and hid while a stream of bullets began to pummel the other side of the large appliance.

_It begins._

* * *

With each of his pistols empty, Joel quickly discarded the revolver and slammed a new clip in the Beretta. 

"Yoohoo," Joel taunted as he made his way between the long rows of aged tables, "come out, come out wherever you are!"

With a booming double blast, Ashley blindly fired her sawed off shotgun in the direction of the arrogant jock and missed. Mostly. Stray pellets embedded themselves into the wrestler's side as he howled out in pain. Focusing his attention on the direction of the attack, he fired three quick shots, only to get a quick succession of blind shots from behind him. _They're everywhere, they're surrounding me, great, just great, motherfuckers._

Spinning around onto his knees, the warrior aimed underneath the dining tables and fired in the direction of Paul. Looking to avoid an attack in any way, shape or form, the movie geek jumped on top of the table and pressed his body flat against it in an effort to stay hidden.

"HEY!" Ashley shouted from behind the wrestler. Turning his attention back to the girl, Joel caught her running across the top of one of the long tables towards him with a wooden chair held high above her head like a bludgeon. Firing shots out of pure fear, the wrestler missed the Latina by a mile, bullets arcing off the ceiling and the chair Ashley held high above her head. Swinging the aged piece of furniture like a baseball bat, Ashley splintered the chair across Joel's skull as the wrestler could only see stars and collapse to the floor.

With the wrestler knocked to the ground, Ashley set about pummeling the athlete's skull into the floor with her boot.

* * *

Rolling across the floor onto the side that hid the young lovers, Katie fired off a barrage of bullets into thin air. _They were supposed to be there, I guess they might be faster than you after all._

Taking the redheaded librarian's aide by surprise, Katherine struck out from behind with the police baton Ashley had provided her with just moments before. Catching the girl at the junction where the spine meets the skull with an audible crack, Katie was taken off guard and hobbled where she stood. Swinging it around the girl's neck, Katherine grabbed it with her other hand and pulled Katie in close, using the baton to strangle the girl as she pulled it in ferociously.

"Get it now!" Katherine yelled to Carter as he slid across the floor towards Katie's feet. With most of her concentration on the lack of oxygen reaching her brain, the religious girl's focus was off and allowed her no chance to shoot at the boy on the floor. As such, he was offered little resistance as he grabbed the AK-47 and tried to wrench it from her grasp.

Not one to be taken so quickly, Katie fought back, not letting the boy steal her hard-earned weapon so easily.

"She's not budging!" Carter yelled.

"She will!" Katherine replied as she crunched the baton against Katie's throat with more ferocity. Getting dizzy, Katie could feel the grip on her assault rifle begin to slide as Carter was finally overpowering her. Despite the state of pleasure that came from the pain, Katie found herself more than slightly dismayed at the fact that someone had successfully overtaken her. _No, not going to let it end this way, it cannot end this way, I cannot let it._

Looking to end the stalemate before it would end her, Katie kneed Carter in the crotch. Hard. Howling in pain, the boy collapsed to the floor as he held his ruined testes. Then linking her right leg on the nearest table, Katie deftly forced all her body weight onto the surface and kicked into a flip over Katherine's back. Suddenly free of her binding, the red-haired girl gasped long enough to regain her breath and allow Katherine a chance to turn around. Swinging her AK-47 up high, Katie smashed its steel-belted butt into Katherine's forehead between the eyes with enough force to break her glasses clean in half. With another high kick to the chest, Katie sent Katherine sprawling near-unconscious onto the downed Carter.

With a grin of near-orgasmic bliss, Katie prepared to fire everything her rifle had at the two prone lovers.

* * *

His head ground into the concrete floor, Joel knew pain like never before. Sure, he'd been in worse scrapes before, and none of it was as bad as that time that he'd had his lip split open by that damn Mexican, but it still hurt like hell. Quickly pressing his legs against the ground, the wrestler propelled his lower body in such a way to wrap his legs around Ashley's waist. Quickly bringing them back down, he slammed the girl into the ground hard. With the wind knocked out of her, Ashley was only slightly more dazed than Joel as he crawled over to her and began to pistol whip her. 

"Fucking bitch," he muttered with a spit of blood.

Seeing the girl he'd had a crush on getting pummeled into the floor with such ferocity, Paul didn't really know what, if anything he could do. Ashley was by far the physical best in this situation, and if he were going to attempt to take on Joel, it'd have been damn near suicide. But, to see her getting trounced on the ground like that... _Can't shoot at him, no, it'd get her instead, no, gotta do this, and gotta do this crazy._

"Hey!" Paul shouted to the wrestler with little effect, "Stop it! Don't do that!"

With little thought, the boy thrust his pistol into his belt and ran towards the wrestler screaming like a banshee. Catching the athlete off guard, Paul jumped onto his back.

"Get the hell off of me!" Joel yelled as he stood up and thrashed around wildly. Stumbling around, Joel bashed Paul into the wall. Stunned, there was little Paul could do as Joel bodily threw him to the side and into a table. Getting up in a haze, the film geek reached for his pistol and tried to fire.

Not nearly as fast as Joel, Paul could only stare down the barrel as Joel lifted his Beretta and fired one, two, three and four shots into his chest. With blood spraying from his lips, Paul collapsed to the ground in a heap.

"You SON OF A BITCH!" was all Ashley could yell.

* * *

Click. 

The AK-47's clip ran dry. If Katie was one fond of cursing, she knew that that would have been as much a moment as any to let loose with a stream of profanities. Instead, she could only watch as Carter lifted his pistol high and fired three quick shots into her chest. The bullet proof vest caught them rather nicely, but the force and accompanying impacts knocked her back to the ground.

"I got her!" Carter yelled with some satisfaction, his smile turning into a look of sheer surprise as the girl quickly got back to her feet and reloaded the machine gun. Acting on pure instinct, Carter rolled himself and Katherine to the side, winding up on top of her in just enough time to dodge another stream of rounds from the librarian girl's assault rifle.

"Hey," Katherine said with half a smile as she looked up at Carter.

"Hey yourself," he said quickly as he pulled himself into a crouching position with the pistol held high. Looking above the table to get sight of Katie, he was instead met with a shower of sparks as bullets ricocheted off the steel table.

"Come on!" he hollered as he pulled Katherine alongside him. The pair crawled quickly beneath the limited cover that the kitchen appliances had to offer as Katie continued firing at any of the fleeting glimpses she could get. _Come on, offer me a clean shot, offer me a clean shot and a fair fight and I can take them all. Well, fair by the standards that dictate my course at least..._

With nearly twenty feet between them and a few seconds to spare, Carter looked at a small, waist high refrigerator and got an idea. With all his might, he swung the door open and whispered into Katherine's ear, "Inside, quick, and open when I tell you!"

* * *

Jumping to her feet and running her shoulder square into Joel's back, Ashley met little resistance as the larger athlete was knocked off balance. Despite his injuries and more than a little pain, the large boy swung around with a quick punch intended for her face and hitting nothing but air. With his other hand, he attempted to swing the Beretta around in time to shoot Ashley at close range, but with surprising strength and accuracy Ashley uppercutted the boy's wrist and sent the pistol flying across the room. 

Once again like prom just months before, two of the greatest warriors sired by Braiwood High School's Class of 2003 squared off for a brawl.

"Now this seems familiar," Joel said with a laugh as he cracked his knuckles.

"Yeah, but I beat you then," Ashley corrected with a smile as she thrust her hands into her pockets, "and I'll beat you again. That was a cheap shot you took then, but I got you off those now, you wanna settle this like men?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way," the athlete said as he rushed the wiry Latina.

Pulling her hands from her pockets, Ashley revealed her hands to be clad in brass knuckles as she began to take Joel on in earnest. With another of his powerful punches dodged, she began working on his ribs and stomach with a flurry of metal-tipped punches, each one seeming to take more than a bit of the life from the wrestler. With each successive punch, a new pop or crack could be heard as the flesh of his torso seemed to turn to Silly Putty.

Groaning in pure pain, Joel found himself closer to being beat than he ever could have expected before. Not only was he close to defeat, but he was close to being beat by a _girl._ Katie he could match up against because she was one of the ones really out there playing this game for all it was about, but being beat by fucking Ashley Vasquez? What the hell was that?

Finding a golden opportunity as she set about trying to do another quick one-two combination, Joel grabbed each of her hands in one of his and kneed her in the gut as hard as humanly possible. With all the wind taken from her lungs and the world turned black for the moment, Ashley was completely vulnerable. Knowing how best to take advantage of the situation, he kneed her in the gut once more and swung both of his hands down hard on her kidneys. With strength now fully drained, Ashley's fingers slipped from the grips of the knuckles and dropped each to the floor with a metallic clang.

"Not so tough now, are ya bitch?" Joel said with particular relish as he unshouldered his shotgun and swung it around like a club. Winding it up, he swung it to deliver a powerful blow to the bottom of Ashley's chin, causing her to spit blood in an arc over the nearby wall. Delivering a quick jab with the weapon's butt to her ribs, Joel spun her and knocked her flat against the wall. Then spinning the long gun so he held it in both hands, Joel powerfully pressed the sideways gun powerfully against Ashley's throat. With eyes bugging and gasping for air, Ashley desperately clawed to free herself as Joel used the shotgun to choke what little life remained from her frame.

"You like that huh, don't you bitch?" Joel practically hissed as he put his face close enough to Ashley to kiss her, "Yeah, you do like that, don'tcha?"

* * *

As Katie rounded the corner from the table with a short burst of bullets for good measure, she once again found there to be nothing. _This is the second time in as many minutes, this is not right, you are seriously testing me._

Rolling from underneath the sink, Carter struck out with the blood-stained fire ax they had retrieved from Lori's body just a manner of hours before. Quick and nimble on her feet, Katie jumped clean over the low attack and stepped back, giving Carter enough time to fully stand up and rush closer to the librarian's aide. Swinging the ax around like a mace, it offered enough space between him and the girl that she did not try to shoot him.

Swinging the barrel of her gun upwards, Katie knocked Carter's ax skyward and out of striking distance. She readied to fire off a burst square into the boy's chest, but with a burst of adrenaline he swung the ax sideways so that he could grasp the handle in both hands. Lifting them high, the barrel of Katie's machine gun pointed high towards the ceiling and pumped out a stream of rounds into the old concrete edifice. With such close proximity, the escaping gunpowder burned the side of Carter's face, but given the fact that it was just a gas instead of hot lead he was hardly one to care. Looking to the rack of appliances he faced, the boy put all his body weight into pushing Katie towards the small refrigerator. Sighting the range he wanted, Carter shouted.

"NOW!"

Kicking off from inside the small refrigerator, Katherine sent it's metal door squealing into the back of Katie's legs. Squealing out from surprise, the red-haired girl flipped end over end onto the floor. With her rifle sliding to the side, an involuntary reflex caused her to accidentally press her gun's trigger and set off a series of bullets. As the barrel slid across Carter's ax, the stream of bullets came across the boy's hand.

As blinding pain overtook him radiated up his arm and took over his body, Carter could only look at the bloody stump that used to be his hand. The high-powered rounds fully went along with their intended purpose as they cut through bone and flesh, blowing free the pinky through middle fingers of his right hand as well as a small portion of his hand. Screaming as blood gushed from the wound, Carter collapsed to the ground.

"CARTER!" Katherine yelled as she burst from the refrigerator. Looking over to Katie with pure rage, Katherine kicked the assault rifle from the dazed girl's hand as she lifted her pistol high. Waiting for Katie to stand, Katherine fired the shots one at a time in methodical fashion. With each bullet landing square against her vest, it knocked Katie back one step further.

Stunned and in pain as she braced herself against the semi-open door of the meat locker, Katie could only look on painfully as Katherine tossed her empty revolver to the side. Quickly sidling up the police baton, Katherine pulled the weapon back and swung it with enough force to gain her admittance into the LAPD. Instead, it cracked hard across Katie's jaw and knocked her unconscious into the meat locker that was once their war room.

For the briefest of moments, Katherine considered finishing off Katie right there, but the screaming and bloody Carter got her fullest attention. Nevertheless, something had to be done about the dangerous girl. Putting all her body weight against the meat locker's door, Katherine slammed it shut and used a stray piece of rebar to brace it shut.

"I'm coming Carter," she said as she rushed to the wounded boy, "Oh god, oh my god..."

* * *

"Is that how you like it bitch?" Joel hissed, "Is that how you like it?" 

As the blood pounded in her head, Ashley felt her consciousness begin to wane. _No, no, I'm losing it, I almost did before, no, he won before, he knocked me down and put me out, got me arrested because I stayed, no, this guy, this prick, this motherfucker, he is a scourge upon the earth and you gotta do something with it, otherwise he'll kill you where you stand._

"Come on bitch, tell me, you like it like that don't you?" Joel said tauntingly, "I could fuck you now if I wanted to, you know that, but I think, yeah, I think I'll kill you instead."

"Fuck you," Ashley spat as she dared a last minute assault. Dropping her hands from the shotgun, Ashley stopped trying to prevent the assault. Instead, she grabbed Joel by the back of his head and pulled him in close. Opening her mouth wide, Ashley clamped her teeth down upon Joel's left cheek. Putting as much force as she could into the attack, Ashley waited for the boy to scream. Indeed he did, screaming a high pitch that sounded much like a girl at a boy band concert as her bite sunk clear through the boy's flesh. Biting even harder, she kicked off against the weakened boy, sending him across the room with the ripping of flesh and spray of blood.

Standing around in shock, surprise, and screaming out in pain, Joel didn't even realize that his cheek was still in Ashley's mouth. The girl spat out the ragged chunk of bloody flesh with pure revulsion, looking upon the jock's face as she could see the teeth sticking out where flesh used to be.

"What the hell you psycho fucking bitch!" Joel shot out the best a boy missing a cheek could. Pulling the Beretta from his pocket, the wrestler prepared to shoot the Latina square in the face. Instead, an iconic and altogether terrifying noise brought him back into reality.

_Chainsaw. Fuck._

Turning around, Joel caught a sight that was comparable to something in an average slasher movie. Instead, he found someone who watched and worshipped them. With his chainsaw held high over his head, the mortally wounded Paul ran screaming like a psychopath towards Joel.

Scared out of his mind, the wounded wrestler lifted his pistol up high and fired off a shot towards Paul's face. The bullet went high, carving a slight notch out of Paul's forehead as he screamed out in pain. Though to many a gunshot to the head was an instantly mortal wound, the injury was not enough to put Paul out of the situation, at least not immediately. If anything, the severing of neurons and brain tissue seemed to put him into a sort of adrenaline-induced rage, sending him barreling with a wild scream towards Joel with the chainsaw.

Swinging the weapon down, Paul carved a large gout through Joel's gut and crotch down to the pelvis, spraying bits of flesh and blood every which way. Screaming out in even greater pain, Joel fell onto his back with an agony that no man should ever know. Dropping his chainsaw, Paul fell on top of Joel and wailed on the boy like a man possessed. With the wounds to his chest having perforated most every vital organ, he wildly vomited a great gout of blood into the mutilated wrestler's face.

Ashley could only watch on in a sense of pure amusement mixed with horror as the mortally wounded Paul lashed out with his fingers and wailed upon the wrestler who seemed to be nearly twice his size. Smashing Joel's head into the ground, Paul seemed to take a particular glee with every crunching and shattered blow. Then lashing out like a wild beast, he rapidly and wildly scraped his fingers against Joel's face, pulling strips of flesh off every which way. Stripping the wrestler's face down to the bone, Paul didn't even seem to notice or care that he was breaking his fingernails all the way off.

Mustering the last bit of strength that someone in his situation could, Joel pushed the now convulsing, shuddering and sputtering Paul to the side. His breath now a week wheeze as blood flowed freely from his face, Joel paid no heed to the fact that his intestines were beginning to unravel onto the floor. Looking up from the one eye that Paul had not successfully stripped of its outer layers, Joel watched as Ashley towered over him.

"Ain't it a bitch, huh?" Ashley practically laughed as she toyed with the sawed-off shotgun in her hands. Trying to muster up even the slightest bit of strength, Joel reached for a pistol that he found just out of his reach. Unmercifully, Ashley pointed her gun towards his wrist and fired. The wrestler howled out once more, even as Ashley kicked his now severed hand to the side. Looking down without even the slightest bit of pity, Ashley pulled the tire iron from her belt in her free hand and used it to beat Joel's head into a pulp. Swinging it fast and hard, Ashley pummeled the athlete's skull until his head wasn't much more than a pile of steaming flesh and bone. Given Paul's display of longevity despite his injuries, Ashley placed her sawed-off against Joel's head just to be sure. With a pull of the trigger, what little remained of his head disappeared in a thick red jelly.

"Ashley!" Katherine shouted from the other room, "Paul, help!"

Quickly getting to her feet, Ashley prepared to make a run for the kitchen, stopped only as Paul grabbed at one of her feet. With his entire forehead bathed in blood and his eyes firmly clasped shut, the dying boy cried out with glee.

"ASHLEY?" he cried.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"We did it, didn't we?" Paul responded, "We whipped them, didn't we?"

"You got it Paul," Ashley replied with a forced smile.

"We whipped them and we got it all!" he screamed out victoriously, "Come on Ashley, god you're hot, come on, you're gonna stay with me, right? Stay with me?"

Looking over her shoulder to the kitchen, Ashley didn't know what to do. _Stay with Paul, the guy (though not the first) that you gave your body to, or help out your best friend? Only Katherine called, means Carter's hurt, or dead, or, god, don't let him be dead._

"I'll be right here," Ashley said rapidly as she made her way to the kitchen, "I just need to get something, I'll be back, two seconds!"

Looking back to the downed boy who now looked deader than ever, Ashley watched as he rapidly sat up, screaming out, "GOD YOU'RE HOT!"

With that proclamation over with, the boy fell down as dead as anyone else on the island.

* * *

"My god, Ashley, help!" Katherine said as she held her shirt over Carter's bloody stump of a hand. Ashley didn't take the time to notice or care that Katherine had stripped her shirt off and was aiding Carter wearing only her bra (well, part of her did, but not enough to really take her attention off the fact that Carter looked pretty bad.) 

"Jesus, Carter," was all Ashley could manage once she saw his hand wrapped in the bloody cloth.

"He, oh God, Katie, she shot off, God," Katherine said as she pulled her bloody shirt away from Carter's ruined stump of a hand. Looking on with pure shock, Ashley had to quickly formulate a plan.

"We have to stop the bleeding," Ashley said as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her lighter and pocket knife.

"You got a spare bullet?" Ashley asked.

"What?" Katherine asked, "Why?"

"Don't ask, just do it if you want him to live," Ashley spat back. Rummaging around in her pocket, Katherine pulled free a spare bullet and dropped it into the Latina's hand.

"What happened to Paul?" Katherine asked.

"He didn't make it," Ashley said as she methodically used her knife to pry the slug from the bullet's shell, "all right, now take your shirt and wrap it tight around his arm at the elbow or so. Do it tight, don't mind if it hurts him, just do it as tight as possible to cut off the blood."

Following the girl's instructions, Katherine tightened the shirt painfully around Carter's arm. The boy winced out in pain as Ashley looked into his eyes.

"Carter, hey man, Carter, you with me?" Ashley asked as the boy began to shiver uncontrollably. Slapping her free hand across his face, Ashley looked deep into his weak eyes.

"I'm, yeah, I'm here," Carter responded weakly.

"All right," Ashley responded as she held up the half-full shell casing in her hand, "I saw this done on TV once, but I know it's gonna work. Now, I'm not going to pretend that this won't hurt, because it's going to hurt like hell, but it's going to save your life, you all right with that?"

Getting only a nod from the severely-wounded boy, Ashley proceeded to pour the shell's gunpowder onto Carter's oozing stump. He winced in pain as the powder came into contact with his ragged flesh. Tossing the empty shell to the side, Ashley proceeded to get a flame out of her lighter with a spin of its wheel and brought it close to the gunpowder.

With the sizzling of a rapid cauterization and the loudest scream the Battle Royale had known, the game's most brutal and grotesque battle had come to an end.


	70. Hour 65: 5 Contestants Remaining

Hour 65

5 Contestants Remaining

"_There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast... Fancy thinking the beast was something you could hunt and kill! ...You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you! Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are the way they are?"_

* * *

The literature's words rang through the back of the girls head along with a headache that felt like a small monster was burrowing through the back of her skull. Rolling about on the ground, Katie Snyder tried to figure out what had become of her world. _Darkness, too dark. My eyes are open, am I blind? No, I'm not blind. Wait, am I dead? Have I passed on to the other side?_

Sitting up from her prone position, Katie cried out from the ache in her skull. _No, I cannot be dead, I am destined for a place of beauty and immortality many a year from now, this is pain and perversion._

Getting up into a sitting position, Katie found herself groping about her room completely blind. It was dark, that much she knew for sure, but she didn't remember how or why she had been stuck where she was. _Pain. Now you remember? The little one, you shot off his hand, she hit you and put you in here._

Getting onto her knees, Katie felt about the darkened room and found one of it's metal walls. The room itself stank of dried blood, but to the girl it was no more than a minor inconvenience when compared to the ache in the back of her skull. Falling to her knees as the blinding pain forced her eyes shut, Katie cried out in agony. _That wasn't much echo, this is a small room, not a hall..._

Forcing herself to her feet, Katie hobbled about, forcing the pain to leave her sight. With hands outstretched, made her way around the walls, trying to find anything that even modestly resembled an exit. The room itself was small, not unbelievably so, but enough that it did not take her very long to traverse the walls. The crease of a large door did make itself apparent after a while, and with more than a bit of glee, Katie pressed up against it. Much to her dismay, it did not move. Pressing all her bodies weight against the door, Katie found that it would not budge. _Locked... it's locked, bolted up, barricaded, someone did not want you to leave._

"NO!" Katie shouted as she literally flung her bodies weight into the door. Running back and forth several times, she threw her tiny frame into the port with little resulting movement or response. Repeatedly smashing her fists into the door, Katie got little more than aching hands and dull thuds. Even as her eyes finally adjusted and she could make out the faint line of light that made its way under the massive metal door, Katie Snyder felt no solace.

"Why?" was all she could ask. Collapsing from pain and sheer exhaustion to her knees, Katie looked to the ceiling as tears began to stream freely from her eyes.

"I did everything you ever asked of me, and all I get is this?" Katie wailed angrily towards the sky, "I was one of your chosen! I was supposed to survive, I was supposed to be an immortal! I'm not like anyone else, I was supposed to be the one to change everything in the world, and you just threw me aside? You told me I was special! You told me I was going to be better than everyone else, that I was supposed to lead this into the new age! I loved you, and you threw me aside!"

Out and out sobbing, the girl once again looked to the sky and accused, "I was your right hand, your chosen voice and this is what I get in return? I get entombed alive right as the belts are set to explode, and you cannot offer me an escape? Please, just let me free and I will renounce all I've said! You've answered me before, you've saved me before! When I... when I ran that man down two years ago, I should have gone to jail for murder, but you saved me! I know that you saved me, and I know that you want to save me again but aren't doing it for some reason. Please, just tell me, just tell me why I am here!"

Pounding her fists against the door in an act of futility, Katie lashed out like a wild beast.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way!" she shrieked, "I did everything! I did everything! Why abandon me now... why? Please, just tell me why!"

As tears rolled down the angry girls cheeks, Katie resignedly muttered, "I don't want to die..."

* * *

Nearly forty minutes later, the girl received the sign she had asked for. Crouched in silent prayer, she had asked for forgiveness and for an escape more times than she could count. She got no great savior, nor an angel from the sky. If anything, what she did receive was one of the last things in the world she could have expected. 

"_Tiiiiiiiime, is on myyyyyy side..."_

Jumping up from her crouch, Katie could not believe her ears. Breaking the stark silence that took control of the freezer was a soft yet high-pitched voice that managed to sneak its way through underneath the door. Of all things in the world... it was singing? _That cannot be a voice. No one within their right mind would be here, no one would want to be here, would they? Anyone with a right mind about them would not want to be here in a place of death._

"_Tiiiiiiiiiiime, is on myyyyyyyy side..."_

Sure enough, between lines of that song so familiar that even Katie could recognize, there was the distinct sound of heavy approaching footsteps. She could barely discern the sound of heavy metal being dragged against concrete, but found the sound to be a welcome one at that.

"You've sent me someone for rescue rather than doing it yourself?" Katie practically accused with great confusion, "I am not to question your ways or means, but I must profess puzzlement."

"_Now you always say; that you want to be free; but you'll come running back; you'll come running back; you'll come running back to meeeeeeee..."_

With stark recognition, Katie fell apart inside. She knew the voice. It all made sense, and it all began to fall into place. He was not her savior here, no, no, this all came from something more sinister than divine, more evil than pure. The purity that she had hoped for was nowhere to be found, instead she'd been sent a monster. More than anything else, more than the throbbing pain in her head, more than the pain that coursed through her veins, Katie Snyder felt betrayed.

"You mock me lord," Katie practically hissed as dragged the blade of her scythe along the room's metal walls, "I have stood up for you, I have taken my time, taken my time and taken my life and dedicated it to you, and when I need you most you don't send me an angel. I am doing your work, I have done everything you told me, and you mock me, you mock me and you send a demon to do it. You want me dead, I have been good, I have devoted my life to good, and you send a demon!"

"We thank you for the sentiments," the creature said from the other side of the heavy door, "but your intentions are misplaced. We are guided by none other than what lies within, there is no higher course abound by us. We are who we are, and you know that, do you not?"

"What do you want?" Katie asked. _No you fool! You can end this here, it finds something in you, it wants you, set about to give it what it wants and maybe it shall set you free. This isn't selling your soul to the devil, so long as you don't mean it, so long as you keep your allegiances true he cannot do anything. This is your will after all!_

"What do I want?" the creature asked with what Katie could only guess was half a laugh, "I want the most deserving to win this game, and with the numbers falling as they are this is not appearing to be so. There remain five, five in a game where fifty began, and of those five you and us are the true ones who embody this game's true experience. I, we, all of us in this form are unlikely to survive, but may make it if this one last test goes our way. I have seen you fight, I've seen you battle, and I've seen you taken advantage of and locked in a room when you deserve to be as predatory as I."

"I'm not a predator," Katie hissed with pure anger, "I am not a monster like you. I work for a higher cause."

"Given that you're on the other side of a locked door and I'm the only one who can make it go open, we'd stay quiet if we were you," the Demon definitively stated with a laugh, "at least don't anger us. Besides, you'd best want to lie to me as well as you lie to yourself."

"I deceive no one," Katie flat out lied. _Trickery saved you within this game when survival was necessary, and given how Mike and Geiger fell because of it, you are indeed as great a liar as any._

"Fair enough, believe what you may," the Demon stated simply, "but don't think you're anything different from me. The two of us, you and I, are the two sides of the coin, the yin to the yang, the male and the female perfect counterparts. My psychosis comes from, well, even that we are not too certain of, but it manifests itself from physical injury and pent up rage. Yours I find to be a bit more of a mystery, but something most akin to a feeling of superiority I'd think. You do not see us, anyone of us within this game, as much other than an obstacle in your way, no more, no less, you just tell us that you do it for a higher cause, but you do what you can because you can get away with it. Even Joel, this brute, he was a means to an end. I bet you would not shed a tear if I told you he lay dead in the next room."

Given her predicament, Katie was less than surprised to hear of Joel's death, though felt it nag at her just the slightest bit. _He awoke so many things... no more shall you receive._

"Yeah, really good job too, I mean they just chopped and beat and shot him to shit. I have no idea what they did to his head, but I give a lot of credit where it's due, they did an amazingly beautiful job, better than even we can do, with a passion and fury second to none. I'd like to shake their hand if it's still attached, if I could find them that is. But that matters not, not here at least."

With the sound of the creature shifting and his words sounding so much louder, Katie knew the monster placed it's lips almost at the bottom of the door.

"Since, as a great man once said, initiative comes to thems that wait, I'm going to cut you a deal, right here and now," it continued, "I can leave you where you are and forget about this whole thing, and you can die like some little punk, some forgettable little bitch that no one will care about as history demands. Or, or, I can let you out, and we can determine once and for all who is the most deserving to win this whole shooting match. You don't even need to speak it, just stay silent if you wish to stay, or hit the door twice for release."

Katie mulled the options, but found that there really was no option. All she had asked for was deliverance in whatever form possible, but instead received a demon. She'd received a minion of hell in its own form, yet felt as much excitement as she did revulsion. Withdrawing the sheath from her scythe's blade, Katie walked up to the meat lockers door and set forth with her free fist in the air. She slammed her defiant hand into the door once.

_Come on, you could just let it end here and now, stay silent and fall back and not give in to what monster this be._

Letting her better judgment take over from the great principles she'd forced upon herself, Katie took both hands and slammed the butt of the scythe's staff against the door. Hoping for the metal door to slowly swing itself open, Katie was instead met with silence. Complete, utter, silence. _He lied to you. You sold your soul on a lie, you deserve to die right here and now, just let it happen, let it happen you little whore, you deserve everything you get right here and-_

The sliding sound of a piece of metal dragging on metal greeted Katie's ears and cut her off in mid-thought. _The lock, the creature removes it..._ With a heavy grinding sound, Katie could only watch as the door inched its way open. The gap, she needed the gap to be big enough to slide on through, just slide on through and engage the monster... _Yes, there it is, now or never is your time to shine._

Rotating the scythe in one hand so it braced against her arm protectively, Katie engaged in a quick and dirty cartwheel that let her out through the door's small opening. The Demon's face registered more than a bit of surprise as the spindly redhead alighted gracefully on the floor, finding her footing and lashing out with a long slash across the monster's chest. It looked her way incredulously with mouth agape, then wiped the slash mark across it's bulletproof vest with surprise.

"Really, that would've hurt, I really mean it too!" the creature said. Lashing out like a banshee, Katie set forth with a fast and furious attack of slashes, all of which the creature dodged as it rolled across the floor. Placing his hand up against the head of the sledgehammer he brought in, The Demon wielded the weapon as if it's metal bludgeon were a perverse boxing glove. As Katie wound up for another quick attack, Damien swung his weapon around so as to transform what would have been a fatal blow to a glancing swipe. Rotating the hammer around in his hand, the monster smacked Katie in the side of the face with the bludgeon's long handle, knocking her to the side in the slightest of dazes. As she wound up for another go, trying to lodge the scythe in it's shoulder, the creature dodged to the side with almost supernatural agility and delivered a powerful uppercut with the hammer's bludgeon to the small girls belly.

Knocked back with the wind taken from her lungs, Katie looked as the creature ran for her, sliding the its hand towards the opposite end of the hammer's staff and wound up for a powerful overhead strike. Thinking quickly, she brought the staff of her scythe up in both hands in an effort to deflect the fatal blow. For the most part it worked, as the hammer's wrath struck forth and hit the scythe with full force. Unfortunately for Katie, it broke her weapon's staff in two. With the bladed half in her left hand and the splintered half (now rather sharp from the break) in her other, Katie was undeterred and struck a defensive pose that even made The Demon hard-pressed not to pause and take notice.

Jumping on the head of the creature's hammer as it lay on the floor with her left foot, Katie swung her right square into the creature's mouth. Spinning and spitting some blood, the monster fell to the kitchen floor, rolling out of the way with barely enough time to miss another of Katie's attacks. With a weapon in each hand, the girl created a virtual shield in front of her as she swung them back and forth.

Sliding over a kitchen table, the creature landed on the other side and withdrew the machete from it's leg sheath. The table between them offered the two competitors the chance to size each other up. Katie looked on with pure rage and resentment, while The Demon could hardly contain its excitement as it smiled and licked its crooked lips.

"Ooh my little pretty one, pretty one," The Demon taunted, "When you gonna give me some time?"

With a howl, Katie jumped on top of the table and lashed out with both weapons in The Demon's direction. Easily ducking her blows, The Demon swung the machete in an effort to cut off her feet, defeated as Katie easily jumped over and angled her scythe in an effort to decapitate the creature. Instead of trying to dodge the blow, the monster instead locked weapons with the young girl, wresting the scythe from her hands and knocking it to the metal table. With a powerful swing, the creature slammed the blade of its weapon into the flat side of hers, breaking the scythe blade almost cleanly in half.

"Bastard!" Katie hissed as she stabbed it in the shoulder with the splintered half of the scythe's handle. The Kevlar of it's vest deflected much of the force, but the shattered wood was enough to puncture and stab it shallowly in the shoulder. It hissed a nearly animalistic sound as it dropped the machete and punched Katie clean in the kneecap. The blow had its intended effect as the girl fell howling onto the metal table. Almost nonchalantly, the beast picked up its machete and resheathed it against its leg as it made its way towards the kitchen's exit into the main dining hall.

"Round one goes my way, you'll have to make up a lot of points if you intend to win the consolation round," it giggled with particular glee as it pulled the splintered and bloody piece of wood from the flesh of its shoulder.

Looking up with fiery eyes, Katie grabbed what little remained of her scythe and its staff and threw it end over end towards the creature. Instead of doing anything resembling drawing blood, the weapon clattered harmlessly to the floor of the dining hall as the creature disappeared within. Feeling a rage building up inside her greater than any she had known before, Katie was ready to draw blood and by the gallon... but at the same time something felt oh so good about it. Maybe it was the thrill of the kill, or the pleasure from inflicting pain, but the battle excited her like nothing else she had known before.

Rolling from the table and dropping to the floor, Katie found a six foot length of rebar that seemed to have been left out as a weapon by the earlier inhabitants. Kicking aside some severed fingers and minding the puddle of blood beneath them, the girl lifted the metal bar in both hands and spun it around experimentally. It was heavier than most staffs she'd practiced with, but with great hardness and two spear-like ends, she was more than willing to compensate.

Like a woman possessed, Katie ran into the mess hall with her metal spear in hand. The Demon was quick to meet her advance, striking out with its samurai sword in a glancing blow that sparked off the rebar's edge. The girl whirled the six foot length of metal like a true warrior, going out and meeting the creature's blows with surprising precision. Her choice in weapon proved warranted, as the heavy bar more than compensated for the swords lethality with its sheer weight. The Demon felt each of its sword strikes, quick and accurate though they may be, knocked back as Katie put her entire body's weight into each strike. No matter what form it took, no matter its stance, no matter how it struck or parried, she was more than willing to match with even greater fury.

Looking to end the stalemate of blades and bludgeons (and frankly beginning to tire), the creature jumped onto one of the many long wooden tables and feigned a trip. Sprawling out on its belly on the table, the monster looked to the side as Katie lifted the rebar over her head in an angle that meant to impale. _Perfect._

Rolling to the side at the last second, The Demon could only shudder as Katie drove the rebar clear through the table. With a grunt and a groan as she struggled with the piece of metal that bisected the table, Katie could not pull it free. Taking the opportunity, The Demon swung its body weight around and slammed both feet square into Katie's chest as her hands were wrested free from her previous weapon and she was flung roughly to the floor. Sliding back to the ground, The Demon brought its sword out and held the shining steel over its head.

"That the best you got?" the monster asked with half a cackle.

Thinking quickly, Katie hooked her toes under a nearby chair and kicked with all her might. Taken fully off guard, The Demon did not have time to intercept the girl's newly formed projectile as it struck the creature square in the throat. For the first time in quite a while, the creature was truly helpless, hobbling about and waving its sword about limply as it gasped for air.

"Hardly," the girl responded as she uncoiled the chain from her belt. It was not the most formidable or effective looking weapon in her arsenal, but ever since she pulled it from the bullet-riddled corpse of that wrestler, it was something she wanted to really use. _Bicycle chain combined with a rusty straight razor, this is definitely your style._

Grabbing the chain by its end, the girl swung it around like a whip with a crack, its blade taking a gouge from a nearby table. Swinging it once The Demon's way, the chain bounced with a metallic clang off its sword. Quickly she withdrew her chain, whirling it around overhead and gaining enough momentum for a greater strike. The rusty blade flew and struck the creature in the side of its face, gouging a wide path along its left cheek and removing a ragged portion of its ear lobe. Whirling the chain around lower, she pulled the creatures feet from underneath it, slamming the monster to the ground with a resounding thud.

The beast coughed up blood on the ground, looking up to the girl with pitiful, sad eyes that seemed to already know that they had lost. With particular glee (and more than a bit of ache), Katie approached the downed monster and chucked her chain to the side.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," the girl recited calmly as she pulled one of the sais free from her belt, "I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and they staff, they comfort me."

Kicking the creature in the crotch for good measure while it lay on the ground, Katie felt an undeniable burst of pleasure shooting through her body. _So sinful, yet so divine, this combination is meant to be._

"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies," she continued with greater intensity as she withdrew the other sai from her belt, "thou annointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over."

Convincing herself of the words meaning while the creature looked up to her with great confusion, the girl rotated each sai so that it could stab the creature below her, finishing off her recitation with the greatest passion she could bring forth, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD FOREVER!"

Reaching each hand above her in a stabbing motion, the girl brought her sais down with great velocity. Looking up from the ground, the creature could only resign itself as to what was going to happen. _This is it, this is how it ends. This is how the best player ends._

In a well-timed desperation move, The Demon swung its samurai sword in a quick arc that traced through the air with only the lightest mist of blood. While pleasure and pain had combined to Katie for the greater portion of the game, she only knew pain as she screamed out a shrill, unnatural cry to the sky. Her hands felt as if they were on fire, but in reality the source of such pain was much simpler. With that one last strike, Damien managed to cut off her fingers. All of them. As the severed digits and her sais fell to the floor, Katie backed off from the monster screaming like a stuck pig as she only watched the blood pump freely.

"Now that, that was a fight for the ages," the creature said as it hobbled back to its feet, "and that was a right pretty speech if I ever heard one before. Very, right pretty, good, totally classical words. I mean, I always liked Ezekiel myself, but beggars can't be choosers, no?"

Falling to the ground in a puddle of her own blood, the shock of it all caused Katie to vomit every which way much to her attacker's amusement. Forcing herself like she'd never done before, Katie got to her feet and looked to The Demon for some form of forgiveness. Instead, she found its wrath. Swinging the sword around quickly and lightly, The Demon tapped into its sadistic side with wonderful glee. It formed light, almost entirely superficial, cuts all over Katie's exposed skin. Arms, legs, face, neck, none outright fatal, but all became glaring red lines that stained her body a bright crimson hue. It made efforts to avoid her eyes so that she'd see it all.

"But here's some words from one of my personal favorite speakers," the creature said as it looked to the glint of its blade, "Now stop me if you've heard this before. What we were after now was the old surprise visit. That was a real kick..."

The creature struck out with the sword again, gouging a deep cut along the girl's upper arm that sprayed blood in a long stroke against the wall, "...and good for laughs..."

Cutting a thin zig-zag pattern across one of her shins, the monster took particular glee in causing the girl pain. Then dropping its sword to the ground, the monster pulled a small cylinder from its pocket.

"...and lashings of the old ultraviolence."

Pressing the small button on the top of the spray canister, The Demon coated the small girl in a thin mist of aerosol Mace. Feeling as if she were being skinned alive as the burning liquid poured into her every wound, Katie stumbled back helplessly towards the nearest wall. Screaming out like a wild banshee, she found her voice suddenly sapped as the monster walked closer and sprayed the caustic fluid directly into her eyes and mouth. Her whole world became pain, not too dissimilar to the kind she had been dishing out for the better portion of her tenure on the island.

"One of the greatest movies ever made love, lemme tell ya," the creature replied as it calmly pocketed the container, "second only to werewolves going after ET's mom, but that's neither here nor there."

Reaching to the floor as Katie sprawled herself against the wall, the monster calmly hobbled about and grabbed one of the girl's dropped sais from the pool of blood in which she dropped them. It watched her as she pitifully screamed silently, groping about blindly on the wall with blood-pumping, stump-like hands. Cornering her against the wall, the creature lashed out and stabbed the sai clear through her hand and into a wooden beam that ran parallel to the ground. Struggle though she might, she could not wrestle it free. Looking to make her the greatest piece of art it could consider, the creature collected her other sai and ran it through her other hand in a similar fashion, keeping her arms stretched out against the wooden beam in a near perfect crucifixion.

"Now this, this I must say is a rather familiar sight," the creature said as it toyed with the cross around Katie's neck, "almost there, just one last touch..."

Searching about through the debris and detritus that their fight had created, the creature found the weapon with surprising ease. Picking up the shattered piece of wood with maybe eight inches of jagged metal sticking from it that was once Katie's scythe, the beast ambled on over to the crucified girl and looked upon her with certain reverence. She was drenched in blood, cut, tortured, and in pain greater than any human being should know. _Perfect._ She didn't even possess the strength to keep up on her own two feet, instead hanging by her skewered hands limply as her breath came in a rasping hiss.

"So this weapon served you in your life, it shall serve you in death," The Demon said as it raised her broken scythe overhead and swung it hard into her chest. Not even the Kevlar vest she wore was enough to protect her from the narrow metal blade as it punctured clear through and into her heart. With just another gasp and some light thrashing, the life drained from Katie Snyder, robbing the Battle Royale of one of its strongest players.

The Demon would have shed a tear for the girl if she wasn't such a psycho bitch, but given that she was, it didn't have much pity for her death. _That really hurt, she could've taken off our ear! Quiet to all this, there is much work to be done and little time to do it in._

Indeed, as The Demon packed up all the weapons it could afford to carry, the back of it's mind knew more than anything else that the battle wasn't over yet. If anything, the battle was just about to begin, because with only four people left, the stakes were higher than ever and the possibility to come out of this game alive greater than most would have ever considered. Within six hours, one of only four would win the Third Battle Royale:

Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1

Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4

Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5

Damien "The Demon" Myers, a.k.a. Boy # 17

But, that would have to wait for just a moment, at least if The Demon had any say in it. There was something that was unfortunately, naggingly, painfully more important at the moment. Rifling through the pockets of Joel's corpse, the creature pulled free a lighter and smiled with success as it proved to still work. Holding the flame next to its nearly severed ear, The Demon gritted its teeth.

_This is gonna hurt like hell._


	71. Hour 66: 4 Contestants Remaining

Hour 66

4 Contestants Remaining

For the last time in the Third Annual Battle Royale, the speakers across the island set forth with a resounding squeal. The booming cough on the other side was more than a bit surly, with a groan unique to that of a man who woke up on the wrong side of a bottle of Tequila.

"I shoulda stopped at seven, seven shots, that's good enough right, but noooo, I had to keep going, keep going and get all messed up and puke myself and almost lose this cushy government paycheck. When you kids pulled that shit out there on the island I almost thought it was all over and wanted to fucking end it all, but, hey, we had you by the asses anyway and just as you know now, you never stood a fucking chance. Wait, who am I kidding, there's only four of you left. Damien, Katherine, Ashley and what's left of Carter, congratulations on making it to the final four. I know you don't need to hear who died in the last few hours since you probably have a good idea anyways, but this is my job and I intend on doing it. First to go, well, actually the first four to go were Boy # 11, Bo Adrian, Boy # 2, Doug Rodgers, Girl # 11, Jenny Reese and Boy # 21, Michael Baxter, all shot to shit and blown apart in an explosion by our good friends and fan favorites Joel and Katie. Nice to see how long that one lasted. Next up to be fitted for a body bag we have none other than the true king of the game, the guy that saddens me to read this, Boy # 23, Joel Giovanello. A lot of stuff happened to this guy, but suffice it to say Ashley and Paul put him through a meat grinder, and I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't a whole lot left of him to bury. Next up is Boy # 12, Paul Holt, succumbing to several gunshot wounds by Joel just a few minutes after the big man himself. Last in the game but not in our hearts is our favorite library chick Girl # 2, Katie Snyder, who was sliced, diced, maced and crucified by none other than the one, the only Damien Myers. Now, it's a funny thing, everyone all around loved Joel and Katie, they're like Bonnie and Clyde minus the class, but there was no uproar in their deaths. No, just as it does, public opinion has a way of changing. Damien, if you're hearing this, the whole world is rooting for you! Kill those traitorous bastards and have fun! Anyhow, there's no new prize available, and remember at nine tonight all grids except the one around the starting bunker become danger zones, so unless you want to go out like a little bitch, I think you should get your butts in gear."

With the cracking and popping of a record being placed on its player, JJ spoke once again in a bit more subdued tone as an old acoustic guitar began to play softly.

"This one goes out to Katie wherever you are, and I guess whoever else is on the night train to those pearly gates. Good luck to all of you, particularly Damien, but no matter who wins, I'm going to buy you a beer. Leaving you with some classic Dylan, this is JJ Squalls, signing off."

As the DJ's voice disappeared for the final time in the game, a voice from the past rang clean and clear across the island for those few who were still alive enough to hear.

"_Mama, take this badge off of me,_

_I can't use it anymore._

_It's gettin' dark, too dark for me to see,_

_I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..._

_Mama, put my guns in the ground,_

_I can't shoot them anymore._

_That long black cloud is comin' down,_

_I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..."_

* * *

The setting sun taunted the three remaining members of SABRE as they hobbled their way through the forest. Quickly succumbing to shock and with little strength left in his large frame, Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, found himself held up by the two most important women in his life. Bracing herself under his left shoulder was Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4, whom he had had a crush on for as long as he could remember. Under his right shoulder was none other than Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5, his long time best friend and one true confidante, even in this world gone mad. Had he been in the state of mind to do so, he would have found the irony in the situation that they three were among the final survivors. Instead, he found difficulty even standing and walking as the two wiry girls supported his frame. 

"Come on baby," Katherine tried to say reassuringly, "we're going to make it!"

"Damn Carter, we should've laid off those Sunrise Donuts," Ashley grunted as she hefted her best friends weight. It was bad enough that Carter was practically dead weight, but the fact that they'd added so many guns to their limited supplies in the wake of the firefight made it that much worse. They made their way through the jungle at a slow trudge, ambling along the paths as they did their best to keep Carter awake. Loyalty kept Ashley on her feet though, pure and simple. It would have been easy to set Carter down, let the pragmatist in her win, but it was the loyalty that kept her in check.

"So he went back and killed Katie?" Katherine asked no one in particular as she struggled under Carter's arm.

"Sounds like it," Ashley replied, "the three of us and Damien, we're all that's left here, ya know?"

"Four people left?" Katherine asked again.

"Yeah, four people," Ashley confirmed.

"Four people..." Katherine continued, "out of fifty. Four out of fifty. Forty-six dead..."

"Good, you're up on your math," Ashley grunted as she readjusted Carter's arm on her shoulder, "let's just work this out, find a place to rest and get our bearings before, before the timer runs out. Hey how you doin Carter? You still holding up there man?"

"I'm all right," he muttered through half closed eyes, "just need to, gotta, gotta get my bearings."

"Yeah, we're gonna do that soon," Ashley replied, "no worries man."

"He's going to be waiting for us," Katherine said with paranoia, "he's probably stalking us right now, hunting us like animals. He's a monster, you know?"

"Who? Myers?" Ashley asked with a slight sense of bewilderment.

"The Demon, yes," Katherine responded with fear, "you've heard the same announcements I have, you know the things he's done. He's become the monster that school would never let him be, just murdering people left and right. Murdering them and doing things to him, I mean, did you hear that? He crucified, _crucified_, Katie."

"From all you said the bitch had it coming, so I don't see why you're complaining," Ashley continued as she ducked a tree branch and minded another of Carter's groans, "besides, he could be worse."

"Could be worse?" Katherine asked, "How in the hell could he be worse? He's a bad person! He's a serial killer!"

"Going by the announcements, the dude's only killed four people," Ashley said, "directly at least, we ain't counting the Brat Pack 'cause it sounds like they did it all themselves. I mean, who didn't see that one coming? Himself, he got Elena, Tammy, Dora and now Katie. Right?"

"Right," Katherine responded.

"I killed four people too," Ashley said bluntly, "killed my fourth before even Damien got his. Peter, Lisa, that dancing bitch and Joel. I'm not saying they didn't have it coming, but you're not calling me a serial killer now are ya?"

"But they _did _have it coming..." Katherine said in an attempt to defend herself.

"Yeah, and what's to say any of the others didn't?" Ashley asked, "What's to say anyone here doesn't deserve what they get?"

Katherine's response was one of pure silence as she looked across Carter and to Ashley. As far as Ashley could tell, Katherine seemed either confused or fearful, or maybe even both. She'd have sighed if she had the breath to, but lugging a semi-conscious Carter around made that difficult. _Girls, no, people like Katherine just don't understand. They don't get what it's like to be on this side of things. They don't get people like you, or Myers. Especially Myers. He saved you..._

* * *

Rolling over onto her stomach, the girl felt blinding pain shoot through her jaw. Whatever pleasant slumber may have embraced her moments before was ripped from the girl's being as she jolted her body into a fetal position. The hard steel cot bolted against the wall, that foul smell of cigarettes, B.O. and urine, all those carvings in the concrete wall. _Shit, I didn't get arrested again, did I?_

Still, feeling the natural way of one who has had too much to drink and just had the shit kicked out of them, Ashley rolled about on her cot with a groan. Falling over the side and onto the cold concrete floor with a thud, she groaned out in pain again. There was no response from the other side of the bars. Some old song in the background, poorly sung, nothing special. The usually sedate Braiwood Police Department was bustling with activity as all the noise seemed to indicate, and part of Ashley might've been curious about it had she been more in the moment. Instead, she was searching for something greater in the world, some concept that eluded her. That concept was, of course, the toilet.

"Oh god," Ashley said as she got up on all fours and felt her stomach lurch about. Searching for the corner of the cell, knowing it all too well from memory, she vomited explosively into the stainless steel bowl. Not having eaten anything significant in nearly a day, her vomit was a foul, acidic mixture of stale liquor and stomach acids. Feeling a cramp much like she was kicked in the gut, she again vomited a painful, frothy mess with a slightly black mixture to it. Tasting of iron, it didn't take much for Ashley to know she'd been messed up real good. _Busted a gut literally this time didn't ya? Be fine as ever, come on, chicks get by on this all the time, now you know what it's like to be bulimic, right?_

Clearing her head the best she could by resting it against the concrete wall, the girl weakly flushed the toilet.

"Fucked yourself real good this time," the girl muttered to herself, "fucked it up real good."

Rubbing her throbbing head, she tried to drone out the world if just for a moment. She'd hoped that maybe if she could silence everything out, then maybe the pain would go away, then maybe it wouldn't feel as if her head had been crushed with a hammer against a dull rock. Instead, all she could hear was that poorly sung song clearer than ever coming from the cell across the way.

"_...as they mingle with the good people we meet; good friends we have, oh good friends we've lost along the way..."_ the high pitched voice sung drowsily. Getting to her feet with what strength she could muster, Ashley ambled on over to the bars and looked at the figure in the cell across the way. Lying down in shadows on a cot all his own, he tossed a half dollar into the air absentmindedly as he sang to no one in particular.

"_In this great future, you can't forget your past; so dry your tears I say..."_

"You singin Bob Marley there Myers?" Ashley asked groggily as she leaned against the bars.

Letting the half dollar drop into his hand, Damien Myers sat up from his cot and looked to the girl in the cell opposite his.

"Indeed I am Vasquez, indeed I am," he replied with the slightest of agitation.

"Still gotta work on that singing voice a bit," she said a bit wryly.

"Well, I'll work on my face, then my people skills, and if I can find the time then I'll do my voice, how's that sound?" he replied with half a laugh.

"Should work I guess," Ashley said as she sat back down on her bed and looked to the mangled boy across the way. Of all the people in the school she had problems with (and there were more than a few), Damien Myers was one of the lowest on the list. A lot of people hated him, a lot of people ignored him, and even more just flat out didn't get him. For Ashley, he was a fellow outcast, so he was cool by her. Maybe he was a little too smart for most outcasts, but cool people nevertheless. So, with all things considered, she couldn't help but profess confusion at seeing him of all people in prison.

"So I heard a rumor," Ashley continued.

"A rumor you say?" Damien replied, "Doesn't sound that foreign an idea around these parts."

"True that," Ashley responded, "but don't you want to know which rumor I heard?"

"Always," Damien replied with his crooked grin, albeit a bit more forced than usual, "I'm always one to indulge in the world according to Ashley."

"I heard you were dragged out of prom kicking and screaming, would that have anything to do with why you're here now?" Ashley asked honestly.

"That," Damien sort of trailed off into nothingness, "and some... some other things."

"Want to talk about them?" Ashley asked.

"Another time maybe, maybe another time," Damien replied, "personally I'd like to find out who I am before I even try to talk about things again, because like it is I'm liable to do some damage. How's about you? What brings you to this fine palace."

"The usual," Ashley quickly fired back with a laugh, "I think. Got drunk, in a fight, lost it. I'd rather have woken up in the hospital I gotta admit, but beggars can't be choosers, ya know? Then again, I still got my panties and I'm not in a hospital, maybe that's a good thing."

"Ain't that the truth," Damien mused with a laugh, "ain't that the truth. You hope for a lot of good things to happen, you finally think you get what you want, and in the end it gets pulled from you like everything else. Pulled from you just like everything, and you can never hope for it again."

"Well, that's a bit deep," Ashley replied as another bolt of pain shot through her skull, "but it's pretty good."

"It was a helluva night though, that I will admit," Damien replied with a laugh, "I mean, I don't know what everyone else is gonna think of tonight, but this one's gonna be one for the books."

"Damn right it is," Ashley said, "if everyone else had half the fun I did, I think you could write a damn novel off this night alone."

A young police officer running through the hall that separated their cells pulled the pair from their conversation as Ashley tried to crane her neck and grab the man's attention.

"Hey man, HEY, I need my call!" Ashley said with a slightly more sober stagger. Her entire head still hurt like a son of a bitch, but even she had to admit that she was rather lucid all things considered. _At least you're not on the rag, then this'd just flat out suck._

"Don't even try," Damien added as he looked to the girl, "nobody's paying attention unless they have to."

"Why's that?" Ashley asked as she hiked up her dress just the slightest bit. The small bottles of liquor she'd strapped to her inner thigh had been exhausted long before prom was over, but the half-pack of Red Apple's and her lighter were still there. _Perfect._ Pulling them free, she deftly shook one of the cancer sticks between her lips and lit it up.

"I got dragged in here early, so I didn't catch all of what happened," Damien replied, "I think a cop got shot though."

"A cop got shot?" Ashley asked incredulously, "Here?"

"Evidently," Damien replied.

"Nothing ever happens here," Ashley responded rather bluntly.

"Well, this did," Damien continued, "and come hell or high water are you actually gonna grab these guys attentions with anything shy of impaling them on a tire iron or the promise of a sexual favor."

"Don't think that's gonna happen anytime soon," Ashley said with an exhalation of smoke, "left my iron back at the shop, and I still ain't legal, meaning I'm gonna be in a helluva lot more trouble if I even try the latter. Not that it wouldn't be fun though."

"You need to get out of here?" Damien asked as his hand dropped to his dress pants pocket. Fumbling around for a moment, he pulled out a thin cellular phone and held it in the light so Ashley could see. He didn't even wait for a response to toss it the girl's way, and despite her powerful hangover and bruised jaw, her reflexes were good enough to snatch the device out of midair.

"Thanks man," Ashley said.

"Think nothing of it," Damien replied, "all we need in the world is one person to give us a chance, give us a hand, and I give you my only one. Use it well Vasquez."

"Thanks Myers," Ashley replied with a smile, "I owe you one."

"I'll call you on that," Damien responded as he retreated back to his cot and continued tossing his half dollar into the air, "you can count on it!"

Flexing an aching shoulder as she sat down on her own cot, Ashley closed her eyes to try and take away the blur. For the most part, it worked. _Call mom? No, no, that's not a good idea. Dad? Even worse. Tío Kenny? No, he's done too much for you already. There's always... yeah, he's always up odd hours, he's always been there when you needed him!_

Dialing a quick stream of numbers, Ashley held the phone to her ear as she listened to the mechanical ringing on the other end. _Come on man, pick up, pick up, pick up, I've bailed you out of all sorts of shitty situations, least you can do is get me out of this fucking cell._

With a sharp beep, the voice mail system on the other end kicked in, "Hey, this is Gus, I'm either asleep, fucked up or this thing's off. If you're calling about the tires, I already sold 'em."

Pressing the END button with a groan, Ashley knew there was only one other person who'd likely give her a chance. It'd be a long shot at that, assuming he was even awake or would answer the phone if it rang. _Christ, you're going to get it for this one. He's going to give it to you worse than anyone else, but then again he's always looked out for you. He looked out for you more than anyone else really has..._

Dialing another string of numbers, Ashley put her ear to the phone again and listened with growing impatience. _Come on man, pick up, pick up, pick-_

"Hello?" a groggy male voice muttered on the other end of the line.

"Carter?"

"Ash?" the voice asked, "What time is it?"

"Dark," Ashley admitted in an attempt at humor, "listen, I need some help..."

* * *

"So you're saying that what The Demon did was justified," Katherine continued, "you're saying that killing four girls, at least three of whom were somewhat decent people, is justified?" 

"In a game of life and death, it's kind of hard now to say what is and isn't justified now isn't it?" Ashley asked, "Fuck, we all do what we do here for survival. I killed four people, he killed four people. You say mine are justified because they all had it coming while his aren't because he was a monster to begin with and this is just his way of acting out a sick fantasy he couldn't act out in school."

"Now you're taking this out of-"

"I'm not taking this anywhere," Ashley said as she stopped them dead in the forest. Looking Katherine square in the eyes, Ashley suddenly felt angrier than she had in quite some time. Maybe it was the fact that they were all going to die in six hours, maybe it was the fact that she still had several oozing and itching wounds from previous fights, or maybe it was the fact that she was sick and tired from all the years of high school bullshit mostly coming from girls like Katherine. Ashley felt ready to explode.

"You called Myers a bad person, when I'd lay odds on that you didn't even know a thing about him. Honestly, when was the last time you could say you talked to the guy? When was the last time you could remember talking to me in school?"

"I..." Katherine trailed off into nothingness as she truly had no answer.

"Yeah, that's right," Ashley continued with certain intensity, "you see, to people like you, folk like Myers and me might seem like the bad people just 'cause we don't really like what everyone else thinks is normal, just 'cause we don't wanna be beautiful. What you don't think of is what you might be like to us. See, to people like me and Myers, it was you beautiful people who were the bad ones, so don't call what you don't know."

Restarting their trudge through the forest as she continued to pull Carter along, Ashley continued, "I'm not saying that what he did was a good thing, and I'm not saying he's a good guy in this game. Here and now I'm liable to think he's more willing and able to kill us than we are him. Here he's probably a mean, nasty son of a bitch who's willing to slice and filet anything that crosses his path, just like we are. This game changes people."

Looking on through the undergrowth with promise, Ashley noted, "Then again, I haven't seen him since we all woke up in that bunker. Have you?"

"No," Katherine said, "I haven't."

"It's weird, you think if we all made it this long we'd have seen him sooner or later," Ashley noted as she pushed a low-hanging palm frond aside. With eyes wide open and relief flooding through her body, Ashley finally breathed that sigh of relief she'd wanted to let loose for some time.

"Perfect," she said as she eyed the decrepit barracks. For the longest time they had been hiding and making a path through the dense jungle in an effort to shake any and all predators that may be on their trail. Looking for a place with a roof to take their break that was within walking distance of the endgame staging area, one of the many abandoned barracks seemed to be ideal. Indeed, before them was a row of aged and partially collapsed buildings that if anything looked to be a row of cardboard boxes. At the end of the row they could vaguely see the outline of the smoking remains of the officer's quarters, the last of it's embers having burned out a manner of hours before.

"Still with us man?" Ashley asked Carter as she shook him by the shoulder, "Come on, don't pussy out on me man."

"I'm alive," he muttered weakly as he lifted his head up, "I'm good, I'm here."

"Good man, excellent, let's get you in a bed for a bit," Ashley continued as she turned her attention back to Katherine, "let's get him down and regroup for a bit."

"Will you look at that?" Katherine mused as she looked to the west, completely ignoring what Ashley just said. Letting her eyes follow Katherine's, Ashley watched as the burning orange ball that was the sun was bisected by the horizon line.

"That's our last sunset," Katherine said in a dejected tone. In any other situation, the weight of it all would have crushed her spirit entirely and made her into a quivering ball of emotion. Instead, Katherine found herself tired of it all. It was an inordinately beautiful sight, one that should have been ugly all things considered to even out the situation, but remained a gorgeous sign of what nature is capable of instead.

"Come on," Ashley butted in, "we gotta deal with Carter."

Sighing with exhaustion, Katherine helped Ashley hoist the near-unconscious Carter into the barrack, closing the door behind them.


	72. Hour 67: 4 Contestants Remaining

Hour 67

4 Contestants Remaining

For lack of a better word, Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4, was a mess. She had more than enough reasons to be stressed, imminent death among them, but all things considered death seemed to be relegated to the back of her mind. So many other things, inconsequentialities, dominated her consciousness. She cleaned her glasses with the edge of her shirt for perhaps the thousandth time in the hour since they'd made base within the barracks. Somewhere in one of the beds behind her he groaned in his sleep. Something in her wanted to look over her shoulder and see what was wrong with him, but she knew the answer would be the same.

Everything was the same. Everything since this whole "game" had started had been one big mess of the same. _You think you have the situation under control, you think you have the goodness to win, and then evil takes over. Evil takes over, evil wins out, and the good guys have to suffer because of it, suffer and die for what? What is all this about? Why'd they have to take us?_

At least the pain was gone, well, all right, not gone, but relegated more towards an irritating itch. The splinters to her back that she'd received from the opening shotgun blast of their firefight at the mess hall were a pain, and thankfully Ashley had enough patience to pull them all out by flashlight. _Well, most of them at least._ Subconsciously turning around, Katherine found herself once again gazing at the wounded Carter.

"He's fine girl," Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 said from a bunk across the way, thoroughly bringing Katherine out of her thoughts. The moonlight that had begun to sneak through framed the Latina's harsh features rather frighteningly as she set about her task with certain intensity. Katherine had watched as the other girl stripped pieces of wood for some time, collecting all the stray nails she could gather and then went about duct-taping them to the outside of that spray can she pulled from her backpack.

Ever since the game began, Katherine found her opinion of Ashley rapidly deteriorating. At first she was glad that the girl was a part of their team, as her great strength and sheer will to survive made her a valued member and warrior. And she did save Carter after all. However, something had never quite seemed right about her. No matter how much a part of the good guys she seemed to be, Ashley always seemed willing to turn to the dark side. She seemed to kill with little compunction and even less regret afterwards. _She seems to think you make a great distinction between the people she killed and those everyone else killed, but we all know that's not the truth. Killing is killing. It's the most intimate you could be with someone outside of making love... and she doesn't even care._

And then... then there was Carter's seemingly undying devotion to the girl. Katherine had friends, she had lots of friends and she cared for them all. For the odyssey that Carter was willing to go on, it sounded almost like it bordered on psychosis. He went out of his way to make a suicide mission, jeopardizing the escape, just to save her. In a moment of life or death, why did he choose to condemn them all over _her! No, this isn't jealousy, this isn't insecurity, you're thinking practically, you are thinking realistically._

"He's fine?" Katherine practically spat back at Ashley's inane remark, "He damn near bled to death on the floor of the kitchen, that's not fine."

"He's alive though, right?" Ashley responded as she pulled a long strip of duct tape from the roll.

"Yes he is," Katherine replied, "what is that you're making?"

"This," Ashley replied as she held up the lumpy-looking cylinder, "I'm hoping this will save our lives."

"Taping nails to a can of oven cleaner?" Katherine asked incredulously.

"Ever put one of these on a stove?" Ashley shot back.

"You put spray cans on a stove?" Katherine responded. There were many things in the world that seemed wrong with Ashley Vasquez, for some reason this just seemed to top things off.

"You don't?" Ashley asked without taking her eyes from her project.

"No."

"It's pretty sweet actually," Ashley replied, "but that's beside the point. You heat things up, different things happen. Toss some Christmas tree lights in the microwave, you get a helluva light show. You put an aerosol can on a stove, it explodes. Explode when you got a whole lot of nails strapped to it and, well, you got yourself a pretty good frag grenade. I break the top off, light it up, and I think it'll even up the playing field a bit."

"For The Demon?" Katherine continued.

"Something like that..." Ashley trailed off, then rebounding, "I got a lot of respect for him, and he's as good a guy as you'll find back there in the world, but here, from all I heard, I'm thinking he's one tough son of a bitch, and we're going to need every bit of help we can get."

"Damn right we are," Katherine replied. She wanted to continue on about how The Demon would truly be a force to be reckoned with, but given Ashley's tirade (and her tendency to make these sorts of things personal), she wasn't really in the mood to push the matter. _Maybe it is better to focus on things that don't matter, maybe, maybe it'll keep you in a good place. Yeah, focus, focus on something that doesn't matter and the time will go by..._

Looking across the room, Katherine found what she wanted. She'd seen the device when they entered the room, and something about it disturbed her to no end. Of all things, it shouldn't have really upset her as much as it did, but it just seemed so out of place, so foreign, it just wasn't right. If it had been aged a bit more, maybe then it would have made some sense, but no, this thing was brand new. Maybe a couple days worth of dust and grime, but still definitely very new. _Who would put a computer keyboard in the middle of an abandoned barrack? Seriously, where would you get one and why would you put it here?_

"How do you think that got here?" Katherine asked idly.

"What?" Ashley asked as she lifted her head up to acknowledge the other girl, then matching her line of sight, "That?"

"Yeah," Katherine responded, "it's creepy."

"...it's a computer keyboard," Ashley replied in an effort to stifle a laugh.

"Yes it is, but it doesn't belong here, I, I mean, everything in here is here for a reason, isn't it?" Katherine asked.

"...it's a computer keyboard," Ashley continued with rising irritation.

"Doesn't any of this just unsettle you? Not even one bit?" Katherine asked. There were so many different things wrong with the girl across from her that Katherine couldn't even count them. Seriously, how could Ashley be so... together after all of what happened? What made her a step above all of this?

"Shit yeah it does," Ashley responded, "things here scare me like nothing else, but right now can't let it get to ya. We're so close to endin this thing, that if we just start goin nuts we're gonna lose a lot more than our minds. We'll die."

"Seems like that's going to happen to us anyway..." Katherine mused as she set her glasses down on the cot and looked towards the ceiling. _It's true, we really are all going to die. Even if we make it past The Demon, what then? Just fight it out? Friends to the end, then when the end hits just cutting and shooting each other until... death._

Finally satisfied with her jury-rigged explosive device, Ashley set it in her backpack and zipped it up firmly. Cracking out an ache in her neck, the Latina looked over her shoulder to make sure Carter was still asleep before looking back to Katherine.

"Something we ought to talk about," Ashley sighed, "now that things are getting tight."

"What's that?" Katherine asked with some confusion.

"Carter," the Latina responded.

"What about him?" Katherine continued.

"What we want to do with him," Ashley replied.

"What do you mean?" Katherine asked again. It didn't seem to really be a matter of questioning, but Katherine already knew where this was going. _You should've seen this coming, you should've seen that she'd want to do something._

"I mean, look at the situation," Ashley continued, "the guy is dying-"

"We stopped the bleeding," Katherine interjected defensively.

"Yeah, we did," Ashley tried to continue calmly, "but he lost a lot of blood and is very weak. We practically had to carry him here, didn't we?"

_Yes we did, didn't we?_

"So?" Katherine countered.

"So he weighs as much as both of us combined. I don't think we'd be able to make it back to the starting area in time if we had to carry him," Ashley said simply. She could have continued if she wanted to, but Katherine could tell that Ashley wanted to get her point across without saying it.

"You're crazy," Katherine said as the full weight of Ashley's suggestion kicked in. _You should have seen this coming, but why are you still surprised? They are friends, best friends, it shouldn't be like this..._

"Maybe I am," Ashley mused, "but maybe I'm being realistic too, maybe I'm being smart here. I mean, I'm just theorizing, spinning ideas, it might be best for us to let him die here in peace while we stay strong and fight it out with Myers."

"You're saying we abandon him?" Katherine accused as she jumped to her feet, "We leave him here for the danger zones to take him? We can't do that!"

"I'm not saying we have to," Ashley countered calmly, "I'm just saying it's something we should consider, it might be something we have to look over. As it is, Carter might be a liability to _any_ of us surviving."

Trying her best not to cry, Katherine instead found herself overtaken by a powerful rage. _This can't be, we didn't team up to do this, we didn't... we didn't, no, we didn't team up to leave each other behind. You didn't team up to fall for the guy. You didn't team up to have some bitch tell you what to do. No, none of this is what you signed up for, none of this is what this is all about..._

With an unseen fury that had been building up in her for quite some time, Katherine flat out hauled off and slapped Ashley as hard as she could. Taken off guard, the Latina's head whipped to the side as her cheek stung wildly. She cocked her neck with narrow eyes staring holes through Katherine. With a quick movement that Katherine never even saw coming, Ashley hauled off with her powerful right and slugged the blonde girl clean in the eye. With her world turning gray as her feet literally flew out from underneath her, Katherine fell flat on her back. Her world turned to one of blinding pain as tears flowed freely from her eyes.

"Don't try that again," Ashley said with a harshness to her voice that Katherine had not heard previously, "If any of us wants to survive this thing, we're going to have to stick together, and if you try that again sticking together will be pretty hard. This one was free. Do that again, and you get my fire."

As her vision slowly returned, Katherine watched as Ashley began to walk away. Letting her pent up anger and aggression that she'd suppressed through much of the game take over, Katherine got to her feet waveringly and ran square into Ashley's back. Wrapping her arms around the Latina's waist, Katherine forced the other girl into the wall. For her part, Ashley seemed rather surprised, as she did little to prevent Katherine's assault and didn't fight back as she found her face thrust into the concrete.

Bouncing back, she propped her knee against the wall and pushed off, intertwining the two girls as they fell to the ground. Elbowing Katherine in the gut, Ashley quickly unlocked from the blonde girl and rolled onto her feet. Getting her wits about her and looking to end the conflict, Katherine pulled the revolver from her belt and aimed it into Ashley's face. The Latina backed down, losing her defensive stance as she shrunk against the wall.

"Get that out of my face," Ashley said.

"No way, Katherine responded, "not here."

"I said get that fucking gun out of my face bitch," Ashley hissed. With the moment of silence that followed between the two women, Ashley took advantage of Katherine letting her guard down and slapped the weapon to the side, aiming to punch the blonde girl in the gut. Faster despite the pain in her skull, Katherine swung her snub-nosed revolver hard into the side of Ashley's face and knocked her to the ground. Once again pointing the gun's barrel in Ashley's face, Katherine threateningly cocked the hammer.

"Do I have your attention?" Katherine asked.

Wiping a line of blood away from the corner of her mouth, Ashley responded with a wry laugh, "Yeah, I'd say you do."

"Good," Katherine responded, breathing hard. She was on the verge of cracking, breaking up, maybe even losing it all, but she was not going to give up on this one without a fight. She'd just let everything in this game happen as it may, fighting when she had her back against the wall. Now she was fighting because she wanted to.

"Because I'm only going to say this once. Carter and I, we got a thing. I don't know what it is because this game may have just forced some crazy emotion, but I'm pretty sure it's love, on my part at least. On his part I get the feeling it's closer to an obsession given how long he's had this thing for me, and obsessions aren't all that easy to get rid of. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, it's impossible."

"Yeah, that's kinda been a problem of his," Ashley said with a surprisingly steely voice as she stared down the revolver's barrel.

"It is. I also know that he didn't listen to a damn word I said. When the sun came up today, he was insistent that we find you. He made it his goal, no, his mission. No matter how much I begged, no matter how much I pled, he would not leave you behind. He knew that death was a good possibility, but he would not leave you behind. He crossed an entire island on the off chance you were still alive, just so he could rescue you. He did all this, and you want to leave him behind, you want to let him die. You're talking about how we need to stick together, and you want to let him die. You _owe _him. You _owe _him with your life. You would not be here now if he didn't come after you, you'd probably be lying dead there in that field with a bullet from one of Marie's guns in the back of your head. So don't you fucking talk about leaving him behind when he's the kind of guy who would carry you through hell itself just to make sure you didn't stub a toe."

Looking for a reaction in Ashley, Katherine found some success. The cold, steely gaze that Ashley had been boring into her with had faded into something softer, more sympathetic. Well, at least by Ashley's standards it seemed to be softer and more sympathetic, as it would have appeared downright cold on anyone else's face.

"I've never had a friend that good," Katherine continued more sympathetically, "and under any other circumstances I'd envy you. Don't turn your back on him now. You owe him, just... _you__owe him._"

Hearing a groan from the other side of the room, the two girls turned to see Carter rolling about in his cot. He turned to face them with groggy eyes, and acting as quickly as she could, Katherine hid the revolver behind her body. _Please don't let him have heard what we were talking about, that... that'd make this a whole lot worse than things need to be._

"What's going on?" Carter asked as he rubbed his dry eyes. _He doesn't know. Good._

"Nothin," Ashley said simply as if reading Katherine's mind, "just, nothing. We were having a chat, figuring things out, figuring out what we were best to do."

"And what's best to do?" Carter asked.

"How you feeling?" Ashley replied.

"Like I could take on the world," he said with the weakest of grins.

"Good," Ashley responded with an honest, wide grin as she looked back to Katherine, "'cause we're taking this to the end. We're still SABRE, we live together, we die together."

Looking into the other girls eyes, Katherine could see a change. Much of the harshness that Ashley carried about her had disappeared. True, maybe it came from having a gun jammed into her face, but Katherine was one who wanted to believe that people could change once they had seen the light. _She's good now. We're sticking this out to the end, all three of us, for better or worse we're going to stick this out together…_

* * *

With their time beginning to run short and little more than an hour to make it to the starting bunker, the three remaining members of SABRE left the relative safety of the decrepit barracks. With the rest and downing a couple bottles of water having given him more energy, Carter was surer on his feet, requiring only Ashley's aid to keep him on his feet as opposed to the efforts of both girls. Katherine took the lead with the AK-47 (limited ammunition though it did have), and waved them forward. Her left eye was already beginning to swell up in a powerful shiner after what Ashley had done to her, but her glasses covered it up enough that Carter didn't seem to notice it. 

"Come on," she said, "we've got a lot of ground to make and not a lot of time to make it in."

"Workin on it," Ashley said, "ain't that right Carter?"

"Yeah, that we are," he replied, "Man, I'm ready for this, I think, I really do think we're going to be fine here. Aren't we? Aren't we going to be fine?"

"Sure thing," Ashley replied, "we're gonna be just-"

From across the jungle, a primitive roar that shook trees and knocked birds from their roosts let loose. It shocked the last three people in the Battle Royale with any understanding of good back into the reality of where they were. _Maybe it's just an animal, yeah, maybe that's what it is. No, you know better, no, this is something worse, something predatory, this is... a monster._

"The Demon..." Katherine said softly as she acknowledged the sound and stepped back towards the relative safety of the group. She grasped Carter's wrist, hoping for reassurance yet unfortunately getting none. He was too afraid and too weak to do much more than just stare wide-eyed into the jungle, hoping that whatever it was didn't come their way.

The trio waited a moment more, hoping for anything that would indicate resolution. They got none.

"How any more rounds for the shotgun?" Katherine asked Ashley. The Latina pulled Joel's bandoleer around her chest, showing off the eight remaining shells that she had scrounged from their mutual supplies.

"Enough," Ashley responded with a slightly jittery voice. It was the first time she'd had any recognition of Damien in the game, and despite her respect for him and her general nature, she felt fear. Katherine was terrified all the more as she could see the fear in Ashley's face. The girl wasn't afraid of anything, hadn't shown any weakness, and here she was, shuddering along with the rest of them.

"Yeah, I got enough," Ashley continued.

"Good," Katherine responded waveringly, "we're gonna need them. All of them."


	73. Hour 68: 4 Contestants Remaining

Hour 68

4 Contestants Remaining

"WARNING, THERE ARE FIFTEEN MINUTES REMAINING UNTIL ALL ZONES EXCEPT STARTING GRID WILL BECOME DANGER ZONES. MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE STARTING GRID OR MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

Looking to the loudspeaker above his head, the boy considered the piece of machinery idly. _They're actually giving us warnings, how quaint. Maybe they actually want us to survive... wait, no, they just want us to all get herded into one spot for a battle to the death. Wonder why they just didn't do that in the first place, save them some time and effort and-_

"You gonna drink from that or what?" the girl asked.

"There's not much left," Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1 said as he handled the flask that had been handed his way, "and it's got a dent on it."

The wounded boy considered the drinking vessel in his hand, teasing it back and forth in his fingers. _Never drank before boyo, why start now? You're dying, that's as good a reason to start as anything. Bah, bad habit._ Thinking better of the situation, the boy set the flask in a notch in the tree he sat against.

"These things are tough, what the hell happened to it?" he continued.

"It got shot," Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 replied, "Besides, it'll help with the pain a bit. Maker's Mark, damn good stuff."

"Not your brand though," Carter replied with a dry laugh.

"Pickings are slim here," Ashley responded with a bit of relief that her friend's sense of humor had returned. "Pinched that off Peter after... well, you get the idea."

The three warriors from SABRE took a quick break in a moonlit grove but a stone's throw away from the starting grid. Given the nature of their competition and the battle that was likely to come, it seemed like the right idea, and it also seemed wise to do it out of sight. If The Demon would be waiting for them anywhere, he'd be waiting for them as close to the starting zone as possible, even a fool would know that. _Predators always stay where there's gonna be prey..._

"Give me some of that when you're done," Katherine Farraday, a.k.a. Girl # 4, said to Carter as she pulled her glasses off and rubbed her aching eye. "I could use a good shot."

"Done with it now," Carter replied as he tossed the drink to the girl he loved. She'd been more than patient considering his wound, and he could only be grateful that she didn't mind that he slowed them down. Ashley, well, he knew she'd never be an issue, that much was not a question. He knew where her loyalties lay just as well as she knew where his lay, so it was never a worry to him that she'd think he was slowing them down.

"This isn't what I'd call the best time to start drinking, so it's all yours," Carter said as he thumbed Lexie's old pistol in the front of the piece of rope he was using as a belt with his damaged hand. Thinking better of the situation, he pulled the weapon back out with his good hand and stuffed it in the back of his pants, pulling the tank top he wore over it to cover its grip. _Just in case..._

"No, it isn't, but by the way you're hit it couldn't hurt, right?" Katherine said as she took a sip, grimacing as the hard liquor barreled its way down her throat. "Man, that stuff'll take your head right off."

Ashley couldn't help but laugh as the blonde girl suffered the alcohol's wrath. "Lemme guess, hardest stuff you ever done was light beer?"

"So what of it?" Katherine asked as she tossed the flask back to Ashley. The Latina simply nodded with that damn grin of hers.

"Nothing, nothing of it," Ashley responded as she took a swig. The girl contemplated the drinking vessel in her hand and sighed. She'd gained and lost so many things throughout the game, yet this one she'd had... almost since the beginning. _Got it in the beginning from a guy you thought was cute, then you killed him. Got it on with another guy later on because you needed to forget about this place, and now he's dead. Last guy you give a damn about is right here, and he's almost dead. You thought about leaving him for dead. Selfish bitch._

Rotating the flask in her fingers, Ashley poured a small amount of the alcohol onto the ground.

"Vaya con dios Paul," Ashley muttered. Looking up to the other two, Ashley could feel their eyes boring through her with confusion and wonder. Knowing what the girl was doing and realizing its significance, Carter waved to his friend. Acknowledging his action, the girl capped the flask and tossed it his way. He did his best to catch it, but found his reflexes to be a bit off as the container fell to the ground at his feet. Using his feet as a brace, he unscrewed the cap with his good hand before holding the flask to the sky.

"To Anna," Carter said as he tried to remember that old blessing. "May the roads rise with you, and the wind be always at your back, and may the Lord hold you in the hollow of his hand."

Turning the flask on end, Carter poured out some more of the burning brown liquid onto the ground. Understanding the ritual finally, Katherine took the flask from his hand and turned it on its end, pouring the last of the alcohol into the dirt.

"To all our friends who lost their lives so we could make it this far," Katherine said before nodding and handing the empty flask back to Ashley. The Latina shrugged, tossing the empty container over her shoulder.

"So that's it," Ashley said as she pulled Joel's Beretta from her belt. Checking the clip, the girl slid the gun back into her belt well within quick reach.

"No," Carter said with some conviction, "No, this isn't it."

With some of his energy gained back, Carter looked waveringly to the two girls who meant the most to him in the world. He had been considering the speech for some time, wondering when would be the best to bring it up, but considering their relative safety and the fact that time was of the essence, he figured it was best to get it out now.

"Only one of us is getting off of this island, god willing, right?" Carter asked.

"Unless Damien kills us all or our time runs out, yes," Ashley responded.

"That's right," Katherine responded as she subconsciously wiped her black eye.

Looking over to her with concern, Carter asked, "When'd you get that?"

"In a fight earlier," Katherine said with some hesitation. _Well, at least it's not a total lie._

"It doesn't hurt that much anyway," the girl responded as she cautiously looked over to Ashley.

"All right," Carter said as he subconsciously rubbed the handle of the ax as it stuck from his backpack. "Anyway, I want us all to make an agreement, here and now we make an agreement, no, not an agreement, a pact."

"A pact?" Katherine asked.

"What're you sayin'?" Ashley too asked.

"Look, we were put in here by a group of people one helluva lot worse than anyone inside this game," Carter said. "The big wigs in charge, they're the ones we should be fighting here, not each other. Unfortunately we don't have the luxury at this moment to take them out like we should, but I propose we do the next best thing."

"This I gotta hear," Ashley laughed, amused by one of Carter's many impassioned quasi-political speeches. The boy motioned for the two girls to come close as he made his plea as silently as possible so as to avoid the microphones. Pulling their heads close together, he got them close enough so his lips were mere inches from their nearly-joined together ears.

"Whoever makes it out, the last one standing," Carter whispered, "does everything they can, _everything_, to take this system down. Brick by brick, body by body, do what they can to take it all down. Make each and every one of them suffer for the things they have forced us through."

"An eye for an eye?" Ashley whispered back.

"Not big enough," Carter continued, "not in the slightest. Whoever wins this takes it all down. From the bottom to the top they take the whole system down, no matter how much blood needs to be drawn, no matter how much it hurts, whoever lives needs to destroy everything that makes this game possible. I want us to make that pact."

Separating from the girls, he asked, "Do you agree to that? Tell me now, do you agree to that?"

"I agree," Katherine responded quickly. "For all that's happened, I agree."

"Ashley?" Carter asked.

"You know I would've anyway," Ashley said. "I agree."

Hugging the two girls close underneath his large frame, Carter did his best not to cry with it all. _This is it, this is how it all ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. However from that whimper will come a yell, a cry for freedom unlike any other, and like a phoenix from the ashes some good will rise from this accursed "game." What Anna started, what she made, it will live on longer than any of us could ever dream. In destroying us, the government only gives SABRE life._

"I love you both," Carter whispered into their ears. "Now come on, we have to get moving."

* * *

The creature watched with particular glee as its last competitors carved a path through the jungle. They were close enough to the starting bunker that they'd be able to see it in no time, but with luck they also happened to follow the paths that the monster had hoped. Crawling through the dense undergrowth as it stalked the trio of friends, the beast smiled a toothy and slightly blood-tinged smile as it looked about. Soon enough they would reach the end, but not too soon, oh no. They'd taken the path it hoped, no, it _wanted_ them to take. To make it to the starting grid, they'd have to earn their keep. If they wanted to be in the realm of the survivors, they'd have to make it through some nasty times. They'd have to make it through obstacles to prove their worth that the monster set out before them. They'd have to make it through one hell of a fireworks display.

Those basic facts made The Demon smile to no end. Traipsing about silently through the underbrush on all threes, the creature continued on to its hiding spot by the starting bunker. _They may outnumber us and have more guns than they need, but after the gauntlet they'll find themselves wishing their fathers had never met their mothers._

* * *

"WARNING, THERE ARE TEN MINUTES REMAINING UNTIL ALL ZONES EXCEPT STARTING GRID WILL BECOME DANGER ZONES. MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE STARTING GRID OR MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

"Ow, goddammit!" Ashley cursed as she found her foot caught on something hiding in the ferns around her ankles.

"What's wrong?" Katherine asked as she turned about and faced Carter and Ashley. Pushing Carter away from her enough so he could stand on his own, Ashley ducked down and found what held her foot taut. She groped about blindly, feeling a sharp prick upon her fingertips as she winced and drew them up to her face. Even in the darkness it wasn't too hard to see that she'd cut herself on something.

"I don't know," Ashley responded as she tried to pull her leg free and found it sticking to something. "Got caught on something real fierce down here though."

Finally pulling the leg of her jeans enough to pull away from the binding, Ashley could only feel her pants tear as they ripped free. Experimentally reaching out, she found the source of her troubles. Barbed wire. _Someone strung up barbed wire between these two trees. Maybe it was here before? No, then it'd be on posts, this, this is done right between these two trees right here, someone probably in this game. Someone knew we were gonna be coming this way._

"Be careful," Ashley said simply. "Caught myself on some barbed wire here between these trees."

"There's barbed wire here?" Katherine asked, looking about warily.

"There wasn't any when this thing started," Carter said with some confusion. "I was all over this grid after the game started, I'd have found some, I know."

"No shit," Ashley said as she backed against another tree and prepared to draw a pistol. "Someone's been busy around here. Just... keep on your toes, just keep ready and on the lookout for-"

SNAP!

Ashley hadn't seen the trigger line but definitely heard the whirring of the rope set free by the trap as it twirled around a tree branch above her head. Luckily for her, the heavy log that the rope held up within the canopy fell at an angle, striking her in the shoulder and back instead of full force in the head. With the wind knocked out of her, Ashley collapsed to the ground underneath the piece of heavy wood. She wanted to howl out in pain, but was prevented by the wood from uttering more than an indiscriminate, rasping groan.

"Ashley!" Carter cried out as he tried to hobble over and help his friend. Katherine slung her weapon over her shoulder as she too scrambled over to Ashley and helped roll away the fallen log. Given their combined efforts, the three were eventually able to discard the log to the side and help the Latina back to her feet. Hobbling about unsteadily, she pulled the tire iron from her belt and held it defiantly to the sky.

"FUCK!" she cried out. "What the hell is this! Someone's got this place set up!"

"Let's just get moving," Carter said as he used his good hand to help Ashley to her feet. "Come on Katherine, keep that gun high."

"Got it," she responded simply as she held the AK-47 tightly to her shoulder. With flashlight in one hand, the girl placed it underneath the barrel of her weapon and turned it on, making sure that whatever crossed its beam would surely find a quick and probably painful death.

"You guys good to move?" she asked, eliciting nods from Ashley and Carter. Undaunted, the girl moved on. _Come on Demon, come on and show your face. Show that ugly little face of yours so I can blow it off and make this whole night a lot easier on all of us. Come on Demon, COME ON!_

Catching what she thought to be a flitting of movement before her eyes, Katherine picked up her speed as the wounded duo behind her kept their usual pace.

"Katherine, wait up!" Carter said. Without even looking back, she continued further. _Come on Demon, show your face, show your face, show your ruined face so I can shoot it of-_

With her whole world quickly turning upside down, Katherine felt her feet getting yanked from underneath her as the rope tightened around them. She wouldn't put it together until a few moments later, but one of her feet had been caught in a rope sling suspended in a tree. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but scream in surprise as she was jerked bodily through the air and forced to be upside down, flung about the world without gravity or seemingly anywhere to go.

"Katherine!" Carter yelled as he saw the woman he loved pulled from the Earth. With brief presence of mind, the girl put one hand to her face and kept the glasses from leaving her head. Reaching one end of the rope, she soon found herself jerked in the opposite direction, careening off a tree branch as it snapped against her weight and speed. Rotating about, she could see that she was approaching blackness, entering a clear path that seemed to open up into the opening of the starting grid. _Clean air, I can... I can see where I'm going._

Instead of catching fresh air, the girl was abruptly stopped by a seemingly invisible web of barbed wire that had been strung across the pathway.

"Help!" she cried out in great pain as pure hurt coursed through her body. The barbs punctured her body all over, dotting thighs, belly and arms. The one hand that kept her glasses on thankfully shielded her face from any of the barbs wrath, but as being skewered on the wire seemed to hold her in midair, she could only cry out in greater pain.

"God, it hurts!" she yelled as blood began to trickle down her face.

"No, not like this," Carter said determinedly as he broke away from Ashley and bounded with great speed towards Katherine.

"I'm coming Katherine, just, hold up, I'm coming!" the boy cried out.

"Carter, watch out fool!" Ashley yelled as she followed her friend. _Damn fool is running into the traps like we did and he's not even thinking that this might be what was supposed to happe-_

As Carter hit and pulled out a seemingly invisible tripwire, Ashley found herself confused by being hit in the face by a metal pin attached to a piece of twine. Acting on instinct alone, the girl knew it was in her best interests to get moving and approached Carter quickly from behind.

"Move!" she hollered as she pushed the boy down. Two seconds later, the thermite grenade that the Demon had hidden in the notch of the tree exploded, its blindingly hot contents cutting through the tree and engulfing it in flames. With heat great enough to liquefy a block of steel, its fiery wrath cut through the base of the tree and set it falling down. With a tremendous crash, it fortunately fell in such a direction that it missed the three SABRE members entirely. Instead, it triggered another of the Demon's thermite grenade traps, causing another tree to burst into flames and collapse into the starting grid. For lack of a better word, the forest had quickly become hell.

"Come on!" Carter yelled as he got to his feet and motioned Ashley to join him.

"It hurts!" Katherine cried as tears slowly mixed with blood as they rolled up her forehead. With the pain too great, she let her hand go free and let her glasses fall to the ground. She would have shucked her weapons to the floor as well, but they seemed to be as stuck to her as anything else.

"It's all right," Carter said as he gently took her hand. "We're going to get you down. Just don't thrash, all right?"

"My foot, it's stuck, stuck in something," Katherine cried as the pain of being skewered on rusty barbed wire began to overtake her.

"I got it," Carter replied as he sighted the rope around her foot, "Ashley, get her down from the wire, I'll take care of the rope, all right?"

With just a nod of acknowledgment between them, Carter set about pulling his ax out and swinging it overhead. With a quick and easy strike, it severed the rope around her left foot. Now with her body weight resting entirely on the web of thorns, the metal mesh was no longer able to sustain her weight, sending the bloodied blonde falling against Ashley. The Latina broke the other girl's fall, ending with the two bloodied and aching girls writhing in the muck and mud as they tried to get their bearings.

Acting purely on instinct, Carter knelt down beside the crying and pained blonde, trying his best to console her. He reached to the dirt, picking up and handing her the glasses she'd dropped.

"Here," he said simply. "You're all right Katherine, we're still here."

Trying to force some semblance of sanity through the blood and tears, Katherine coughed violently before looking back up at Carter. Pain wracked through every square inch of her body, but it could have been worse. Sure, there were small punctures all over her body that were just oozing blood and tetanus, and sure there was a chunk of flesh about the size of a quarter missing from her thigh, but considering she was still alive, Katherine knew to take every blessing she could get.

"Come on, we have to move," Katherine said as she focused her eyes on the roaring fire that once was a massive tree. "This area will be bad soon."

* * *

Finding their home in the starting grid, the three remaining members of SABRE did the best they could to use scraps of salvaged clothing to bandage their copious, collective wounds. The Demon was nowhere in sight, and the fire that used to be two large trees was oddly comforting. The pain would pass, but the battle was still sure to come. They were all scared, their life experience of the last few days overridden by the fact that they were all still kids in mind and body. Fear, pain and exhaustion wracked the bodies of all three in equal doses. In one way or another, it would all be over soon...

Looking about as they prepared to make their stand, Katherine did the best she could to ignore the stench of the two corpses near the bunker's entrance. The remains of Lisa and Homer had spent a considerable amount of time in their mangled state in the sun and rain, having rotted and fermented considerably since their deaths in the first day. What the vultures had not feasted upon, the flies were now nesting within, as the only sounds in the otherwise quiet grove were the din of the cloud of flies and the crackling of the burning trees. Several flies brushed past the girl's face as she tried to steady her light and weapon in the darkness, and she did the best she could to try and force the fact that their bellies were full of Lisa and Homer out of her mind. _Great, cracked glasses and bloody hands, just what the doctor ordered for one last battle._

And then she heard it. It was not a laugh, it was not a cry, it was some horrid sound in between. For lack of a better word... it was a cackle coming from the jungle. A cackle accompanied by some sickening sound of glass bouncing off of glass in a regular rhythm. It sounded as if it came from the area near the burning tree, and the three remaining members of SABRE didn't need a second guess to know who it was. Whirling about in the direction of the sound, Katherine let loose with the AK-47 (minding its heavy kick as it nearly knocked her off her feet) while Ashley was quick to follow with several quick shots from her Walther.

Another laugh, another cackle, seemingly from the opposite side of the field.

"How the hell..." Katherine could hear Carter muttering as she whirled about, firing another shot from her AK-47 from where the laughing came. Ashley too fired several more shots from her Walther, emptying the gun as she quickly ejected and slammed a new clip home. Again there was a brief respite in the maniacal laughter, yet again from another side of the field.

"We got him..." Katherine said.

"Nobody's that fast," Ashley added. "Nobody can make it around that quickly."

"WARNING, THERE ARE FIVE MINUTES REMAINING UNTIL ALL ZONES EXCEPT STARTING GRID WILL BECOME DANGER ZONES. MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE STARTING GRID OR MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

As yet another cackle pierced the black night, the blonde girl found herself at the end of her rope. Unnerved by the level of control their unseen attacker seemed to wield and aching from the dozens of small punctures that littered her body, Katherine was on the verge of snapping. She could have fired off more shots blindly into the forest along with Ashley. She could have collapsed to the ground in a blubbering heap of confused flesh. Instead, the blonde girl channeled her hurt and anger into something constructive.

"Fuck this," she said as she approached the tree nearest to them that had burst into flames. Being careful not to get too close to the flames, she broke off a fiery limb and carried it like a torch. Crossing the field in front of the starting bunker, the girl hurled the flaming piece of wood into the jungle opposite the fiery trees. The embers found something to catch, and soon another portion of the jungle was up in flames.

Ashley didn't need to talk it out to know what Katherine was doing. _She's flushing Myers out. Maybe she's not a natural blonde after all, gotta ask Carter._ Holstering her guns once again, the girl went over and pulled a fiery limb from the tree and chucked it into another dry section of forest, catching in some leaves that would surely spread the fire faster. Taking a burning branch all his own, Carter went about setting aflame the tall grass that surrounded the starting bunker.

In a methodical fashion the three set about burning the forest around them to the ground. Though the work was grueling and the smoke choking, they did succeed in short time to set most of the jungle around them ablaze. If The Demon were hiding anywhere, he would surely be forced out into the open like an animal running from a forest fire. With guns drawn, the trio could only watch as tree after tree began to get engulfed in flames, listening as they burned and crashed around them.

Then it came. That horrible, clinking glass sound. Accompanying it was that same terrifying high-pitched voice that many before had known to be the voice of death, keeping perfect time to the clinking of glass.

"_Tiiiiiiiiiime, is on myyyyyyyy side, yes it is..."_

A brief silence followed, and in its void came a strikingly loud emergency klaxon.

"WARNING, THERE ARE THIRTY SECONDS REMAINING UNTIL ALL ZONES EXCEPT STARTING GRID WILL BECOME DANGER ZONES. MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE STARTING GRID OR MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

"_Tiiiiiiiiiime, is on myyyyyyyy side, yes it is..."_

"Where is he?" Katherine asked as she swung the AK-47 around. Realizing the weapon to be empty, the girl tossed the useless gun to the side and slung Dora's hunting rifle about and into her hands. _Two shots left, better make them count._

"The fuck if I know," Ashley continued as she brought up her sawed-off in one hand and Walther in her other. _Maybe Blondie's right and Myers became something else. Fuck it, let's take him on like we took the rest._

"_Tiiiiiiiiiime, is on myyyyyyyy side, yes it is..."_

"That one came from somewhere else," Carter said worriedly as he held the ax in his good hand defensively, "I think. How the hell is he doing that?"

"WARNING, THERE ARE FIFTEEN SECONDS REMAINING UNTIL ALL ZONES EXCEPT STARTING GRID WILL BECOME DANGER ZONES. MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE STARTING GRID OR MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

"_You're searching for good times, but just wait and see..."_

Doing her best to focus in on the sound, Katherine fired a single shot from the rifle. The weapon kicked her hard against the shoulder, but surprisingly enough she found herself more than capable of taking it.

"_You'll come running back..."_

"God damn it," Katherine said as the voice seemed to appear somewhere else altogether.

"WARNING, THERE ARE TEN SECONDS REMAINING UNTIL ALL ZONES EXCEPT STARTING GRID WILL BECOME DANGER ZONES. MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE STARTING GRID OR MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

"Stick close," Carter said as he pulled the two girls in with his ruined hand. "We just gotta stick together so we can do this."

"_You'll come running back..."_

Pulling Katherine in close, Carter quickly whispered into her ear, "I love you, I always have, I always will, no matter what."

"I know," she responded with a combination of nostalgia and fear.

"WARNING, THERE ARE FIVE SECONDS REMAINING UNTIL ALL ZONES EXCEPT STARTING GRID WILL BECOME DANGER ZONES. TIME TO MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD! HAVE A NICE DAY!"

"_You'll come running back... to meeeeeee!"_

The warning klaxon blared a final time in a long, continuous drone. Looking out past the jungle, the three remaining members of SABRE watched as large metal towers built into trees began flashing a dim red, then quickly bathing the ground below them in bright, colored light. The blazing fire around them kept much of the color hidden, but there was no denying it now: they were surrounded by danger zones.

"This is it guys," Carter said. "This is it."


	74. Hour 69: 4 Contestants Remaining

Hour 69

4 Contestants Remaining

"Learn to Throw Your Voice in Eight Easy Lessons!"

So the box boasted, and so Damien had once hoped to master during that brief time he'd taken to ventriloquism to get through the physical therapy. The box had lied of course, and he needed close to a dozen lessons to actually gain a decent idea of how to make it work, plus hours more to master. At the time it seemed silly; how would a one-armed boy look like anything less than a freak show by playing with a ventriloquist's dummy?

In the context of the Battle Royale, The Demon couldn't have been any prouder as to what its past form had taken up as a hobby. The Demon was aware that in terms of individual, hand to hand combat, it was unmatched next to anyone in the game with the possible exception of that red-headed harlot (and she's dead now, isn't she?), but considering the sheer amount of firepower that the people it watched possessed, the creature also knew that it wouldn't have stood a chance. _As a wise man once said, 'A military operation involves deception. Even though you are competent, appear to be incompetent. Though effective, appear to be ineffective.' Oldies but goldies, it still holds true._

What trickery The Demon could muster as it sat on top of the starting bunker's entrance worked well enough to cause those standing below to use up a fair amount of their ammunition firing at what they thought to be ghosts. Particularly with that assault rifle out of the way, the beast was more certain than ever that it stood a fighting chance. _A smattering of pistols, a rifle, a sawed-off, their melees, we're in a better spot than even they could think. Firing off shots like they don't matter... don't they know that at this point they'll need every shot they can get?_

The fire was a good touch, that was one that it had not expected. It made the night quite cinematic, and would surely give the evening's proceedings a rather unique flavor. It was probably playing hell with the night vision cameras, and already the creature could hear the screams and curses of the pay-per-view audience at home. _Fuck them. Sure, they made this game possible, but this is for us, not for them. Screw them and their silly little cameras._

The Demon laughed softly at its own wit, and then realized that all consideration and all that sitting around was just slowing down the inevitable. Shifting from its sitting position to a powerful squat, it watched as the three below formed a rudimentary defensive position near the bunker's entrance. With their backs to each other as they stood no more than five feet apart from each other, it would have made a formidable position had an attack come from the side. What they did not anticipate was an attack from above, a fact that The Demon was fully willing to exploit. Ditching the bottles that he had inserted his fingers into for intimidation, the creature quickly and silently pounced.

* * *

Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, was barely aware of the sound of a falling body behind him. The din of the burning forest was beginning to crowd out the ears, and the smoke that began to choke was already making everything he could see foggy at best. Despite the muted senses (and a sudden regret for having started as large a fire as they did), the boy couldn't help but feel unnerved at the sudden stop in singing and that damn clinking of glass. 

The sound of the body dropping just behind him turned that unnerved feeling into outright terror.

"Hey guys, over here," a voice barely registered over the fire with particular glee.

Spinning around on their feet almost simultaneously, Carter, Girl # 4, Katherine Farraday and Girl # 5, Ashley Vasquez met their attacker in a mood ready to strike. Ready for the assault to come, The Demon ducked down quickly enough to dodge a shot from Ashley's Walther as it bounced off the cinderblock wall of the starting bunker. Deftly stepping to the side, it soon dodged the last of the bullets that Katherine had loaded in the hunting rifle as it sailed through clean air and lodged itself in the dirt. Quickly reaching to its back, The Demon withdrew its samurai sword and swung it in a quick circle around its body. Catching the right angle, it knocked the guns from Ashley's hands and the barrel of Katherine's rifle to the sky. Carter seemed to just stand in a state of surprise as he held the axe, a fact which pleased The Demon to no end.

For a few seconds, silence reigned between the Battle Royale's four remaining competitors. Looking about as it cautiously turned around, The Demon threateningly aimed its sword towards its three opponents.

Katherine had a look of sheer rage about her, her blood-stained body tense as she unslung the rifle and held onto the barrel as if it were a club.

Ashley's face was one of pure determination as her eyes never left the creature's. She could have made a dive for her guns on the ground, but that'd make everything speed up a lot more than it needed to. Instead, she reached for her belt and withdrew a police baton in her left hand and a tire iron in her right.

Carter's face showed the most fear of the three, even if he still tried to force a powerful look from it. The axe in his one good hand was waving about wildly as the boy tried to hold the unwieldy weapon steady.

Standing in the middle of the three, The Demon struck a powerful defensive pose as it readied an attack.

"I see a red door and I want it painted black," the creature whispered to itself. "No colors anymore I want them to turn black."

Swinging the sword with all its might, The Demon connected with the butt of Katherine's rifle and sent it up into her face. The hardened wood connected with her right cheek in a sickening THOCK as the girl was taken back on her feet and cried out in pain. Continuing the move, the creature spun its sword downward and lodged the blade into the mud at its feet, swinging its body weight around in a powerful kick to Ashley's gut that sent her faltering backwards.

From the corner of its better eye, the creature watched as Carter ran up with his axe pulled back ready to strike. Easily dodging the clumsy attack, The Demon took advantage of the boy being off balance and withdrew the can of mace from its pocket. Carefully aiming and pressing the button, the beast set out with a blast of foggy pepper spray that blinded the other boy and forced him to collapse to his knees screaming.

Quickly pocketing the aerosol weapon once more, The Demon withdrew its sword from the ground with enough speed to meet Ashley's counterattack upon her recovery. The girl lashed out with quick strikes from each of her melee weapons, trying to find a gap in The Demon's defenses and finding a few. The hit from that deadfall slowed her down more than a little bit, and her reflexes weren't quite up to what they used to be, but pure adrenaline combined with the fact that the creature wasn't in the best shape either allowed her to land a quick blow to one of his fractured ribs with her baton.

Taken off guard by the blinding pain emanating from its chest, The Demon was unable to ward off a powerful blow from Ashley's tire iron to the other side of its ribcage. Taken off balance (and nearly losing the sword from its fingertips), the creature was also surprised by a powerful blow to the back of its neck as Katherine let loose with the butt of her rifle.

With its world filling with stars, the creature swung its sword around in a quick circle around its body just enough to get some distance from the two girls assaulting it. Seeking to create a distraction and allow for further time, The Demon quickly tossed its sword end over end straight into the air. Awestruck by the display and watching the glinting weapon spin end over end as it continued its upward path, the two girls were taken off guard as the creature lashed out with almost animalistic reflexes. Summoning up great strength, the creature ripped the rifle from Katherine's hands and rammed its butt into her knee, effectively crippling the girl for the moment as she fell to the mud screaming. Slipping its hand to the end of the rifle's barrel, The Demon pulled the weapon back and swung it bodily into Ashley's face. With a spray of blood and teeth, the powerful Latina was knocked to the ground on the verge of unconsciousness. Swinging the weapon and tossing it into the flames, The Demon picked up its sword from the ground and prepared to continue its assault...

...at least until Carter threw his entire body weight into the creature's back. Having washed out his eyes the best he could with a bottle of water and regained most of his sight, the boy jumped back into the fray to save the girls he cared about most.

Taken by surprise, The Demon lost its tenuous grip on the samurai sword and once again found the weapon falling to the ground. Carter wrapped his bad arm around The Demon's waist, punching as hard as he could into the beast's kidneys with his one good hand. The monster groaned in pain as one of its most sensitive spots was being pummeled, and with what speed and flexibility it could muster it contorted its now free arm around and grabbed Carter's lower lip, pulling with all its might.

Feeling the flesh being pulled from his face, Carter cried out in pain and dropped the mangled boy from his grip. Contorting its body so that it would get the higher ground, The Demon dragged Carter by the lip and sent him reeling face first into the side of the bunker. With a spray of blood against the concrete, the boy collapsed to the ground with vision disappearing and consciousness fleeting.

The creature looked towards the downed boy in a brief moment of hesitation, wondering if it would be in its best interest to murder the boy where he lay. Instead, the beast was pulled back into the real world at the sound of a war cry. Looking up, it caught sight of Katherine running full force its way and screaming like a banshee as she wielded the rapier she stole from Joel's corpse over her head. With just a fraction of a second to spare, The Demon whipped up its katana from the ground and met the girl's first wild blow. She wielded the sword clumsily and didn't take all the risks she could have, since although she tried to kill The Demon she did so without jostling her head so much as to knock free her glasses. Nevertheless, considering its own injuries and increasing weakness, the creature found itself more on the defensive than the offensive as the crazed, blood-spattered girl swung her sword wildly like a baseball bat.

Sensing another assault from behind it, the creature deftly used its sword to bat Katherine's to the side, swinging the katana behind it in time to meet with Ashley's flurry of blows with her baton and tire iron. Katherine soon regained her footing, and combining her attacks with Ashley's created a nearly impenetrable field of weapons as The Demon did everything it could to keep up with its attacks.

In a last ditch effort to avoid the girls' wrath, The Demon quickly swung its sword and pinned the tip of Katherine's sword to the ground. Looking back quickly, it did its best to mule-kick Ashley square in the gut. One step faster, the Latina dropped her two melee weapons and grabbed the creature's foot. The three found themselves in a stalemate as the creature kept Katherine's weapon pinned and Ashley kept it from making an attack of its own as it kept precariously balanced on one foot. Locking its wild eyes with Katherine's, the monster could only try to stare through her determined glare. Her steely look could not be pierced, and The Demon soon figured out that it could not use its mind to take on the girls.

Instead it resorted to using its body. Using Ashley's grasp on its foot as a pivot point, the creature kicked off with its foot on the ground and spun through the air, kicking the Latina in the face and knocking her and her weapons asunder. With remarkable timing (and perhaps a little bit of luck), it landed quickly back on its feet and swung its sword with all its might, knocking Katherine's from her hands. It then jumped forward the slightest of distances, taking the blonde off guard as it delivered a powerful impact from the sword's handle to the top of her skull, dazing the girl as she fell on her back.

Spinning around in one deft move, the creature dropped its katana to the ground and rolled over to the stunned Ashley. With the quick retrieval of the screwdriver from its belt, the creature rotated it down in a stabbing motion and rammed it clear through Ashley's foot and into the earth. The girl screamed out in agony as the creature twisted the weapon, causing blood to ooze from the hole in the top of her boot and from its sole. Pull with all her might and grit her teeth though she did, Ashley could not withdraw the weapon from her foot.

Eying the Latina and the large boy as he tried to get to his unsteady feet, The Demon turned its attention back to the blonde. She was downed, but easily the most physically adept now that the Latina had a disabled foot. Looking to the ground, The Demon picked up its sword and hobbled over to the downed blonde as she simply looked up in terror. With breath coming heavily, The Demon towered over the girl, preparing to murder her with one fell swoop. Lifting the sword over its head, the creature readied for the kill.

BOOM!

The resounding blast of a shotgun brought everything into clarity as The Demon's sword was blasted to pieces. Whirling around, the monster stared intently at Ashley as she held her sawed-off shotgun with one barrel still smoking. Carter walked up beside her on unsteady feet, at which point the Latina handed him her Beretta in great agony while never taking her aim away from the creature.

Staring at the two people now wielding guns on it, The Demon couldn't help but cock its head.

"Clever girl."

Carter was the first to fire, blasting three shots cleanly into The Demon's chest, while Ashley unleashed the other barrel from her shotgun square into the monster's gut. Flung through the air, the creature collapsed into a pile of still-standing tall grass, its legs twitching only twice before falling still.

Ashley grimaced and moaned, popping open the back of her shotgun as she loaded two of her last shells. Groaning from the various injuries and beatings The Demon had given him, Carter hobbled over to confirm the kill. _It can't be this easy, it's never this easy, it wouldn't be, it shouldn't be with something like this..._ Katherine walked up alongside Carter, holding the rapier like a baseball bat as she readied to strike.

The pair approached the seemingly dead creature, watching for just a moment as it remained still. Experimentally, Carter reached out his foot and pressed it against the creature's chest. It did not move. Pressing again, Carter relaxed slightly as it seemed to be finished. _You could have killed him long ago and did it now just as easily. That could have gone a lot better now couldn't it?_

"It's all right," Carter said as he looked back to Ashley. "We did it!"

"Carter! Look out!" Katherine screamed. Looking back, Carter watched as the monster bounced back to its feet. With its sole hand, The Demon grabbed Carter's gun, holding it to the sky as the boy fired off two shots wildly. Swinging its body weight around, the creature kicked Katherine in the chest and knocked her flat on her back. Trying to force the gun back to The Demon, Carter found his strength to be only slightly greater than that of the weakened creature, but not enough to pull the Beretta into a position that would give a killing shot.

The Demon knew its strength was rapidly leaving. Be it the gradual blood loss, the broken ribs or simple exhaustion, it simply could not match the great power that it had known throughout the rest of the game. Fight though it did, it could feel the barrel of the pistol slowly, slowly being pushed closer to a point under its chin. It looked into Carter's eyes, watching as the boy who used to be so peaceful stared it down with plain fury and rage. Though The Demon possessed great anger, it seemed like nothing on par with the boy it stared down. _We cannot have it end like this, no, not when there is still some fight left!_

With fingers searching down the side of the gun's barrel, the creature found its break. Contorting its arm wildly so that it could edge out of Carter's line of sight, The Demon pressed down on the button that would typically be used for cleaning and disassembling the weapon, then pulled back with all its might as it yanked the weapon's slide free. Carter tried to fire another shot as The Demon stepped to the side, finding the weapon completely useless.

With energy and rage renewed, the creature swung the pistol's slide overhand and slammed it into Carter's skull, thoroughly stunning the boy. Dropping the slide, The Demon then grabbed Carter by the collar of his tank top and dragged him closer to the jungle. Protest and struggle though he may, Carter's weakened state did not allow him to put up a proper fight. Yanking with all its might, The Demon sent the screaming Carter into the inferno that was the forest.

"CARTER!" Katherine screamed as she got back to her feet. With a combination of pure, unadulterated anger and adrenaline coursing through her system, the blonde girl ran at The Demon with her sword swinging wildly. The Demon ducked out of the way of her first assault, unclasping the machete strapped to its calf and bringing the weapon up to meet the other girl's blade.

Screaming from an agony he had never known before, Carter stumbled out of the forest and writhed about blindly, looking for something, anything to resolve his pain. _Come on, just like they taught you in first grade buddy boy. Stop, drop and roll._ Defying what he normally did and actually trusting his instincts, Carter fell to the ground and rolled around in the tall grass, trying his best to bat out the flames. He had only been in the inferno for around ten seconds, but the fire had engulfed his body. Already much of the second-hand clothing he'd worn had been burned away, second and third degree burns covering nearly forty percent of his body. Almost all his hair was gone. The agony was great, but he was alive, and he was fighting off the flames.

Caught between the two people she'd spent the most time with in the game, Ashley found herself confused. Off to one side, Katherine was clumsily fighting off The Demon who seemed far more comfortable fighting with his long blade. On the other side, Ashley watched as her best friend lay in the grass in flames, rolling around as he desperately tried to smother the last of them. Stuck in the middle, she could still only feel agony from the screwdriver rammed through her foot that pinned it to the ground. _You gotta do something girl. Just tough it out, tough it out and fight through it because you gotta make a choice one way or another here._ Struggling, fighting and gritting her teeth through the pain, Ashley ripped her foot free from the ground. With a cry of pure pain, she pulled the screwdriver from her foot and tossed it aside. The Latina looked back to both of her friends. _Fight Myers, fight fires?_

Turning to Carter, Ashley tried to hobble over to help him fight the flames. Instead, the pain that shot up through her leg sent her to her knees. Forcing her dignity aside, the girl crawled with all her might to her downed and smoking friend. She tore free the auto shop shirt that had given her so much pride, using it to beat out the last of the flames that came from Carter's smoldering tank top.

"You're OK," Ashley whispered to Carter reassuringly. "You're OK."

Katherine looked over to the downed boy with some hope that everything would be all right now that Ashley was taking to him. That look only lasted a fraction of a second as The Demon jumped upon her with another of his machete strikes. The girl did the best she could to deflect the attacks, but the creature was stronger, more talented with the blade, and had a heavier weapon than hers. Still, Katherine found herself getting the upper hand on The Demon for the most part. Using her lithe frame she could sidestep most of the creature's attempts. What it had done to her, what it had done to them all (she was quite certain The Demon was the one who had set the traps), it made her more angry than anything else. She wanted to tear the beast apart with her bare hands, bleed him to death and rip him to shreds. She just wanted to be more vile and brutal than even her imagination would allow.

The Demon just wasn't having any of it. The two clashed blades, with The Demon's attacks possessing only the slightest bit more finesse as they fought. What once may have been an organized and seemingly formal swordfight had devolved into an all-out brawl of blades to the death. They fought more like animals than people, weapons bouncing off one another as they growled and hissed every which way.

The Demon tried to sweep Katherine's legs out from underneath her. Sensing the move, the blonde girl deftly jumped over the attack and swung her sword for The Demon's neck. The creature struck out with its machete, deflecting the rapier's intended course. Instead of decapitating the creature, the rapier's blade lodged itself shallowly into the soft flesh of its left shoulder near the base of the neck.

Growling in anger and pain as blood began to roll down its shoulder, The Demon balled its hand up around the machete's handle and swung it around, punching Katherine square in the mouth. As Katherine fell backwards, The Demon struck out with a powerful blow from his machete and cleaved the girl's rapier in half. Thinking quickly, Katherine dropped the damaged blade and pulled the snub-nosed revolver that had served her so well from her belt. _It took bullets to the chest with no pain, bulletproof? Aim for the head, aim for the head and take him out of this once and for all..._ Bringing the pistol up to head height, Katherine prepared to fire one bullet square between The Demon's eyes.

Had it stayed in that one place, she most certainly would have killed the creature in one fell shot. Instead, it spun around and wrapped its arm around Katherine's, pinning her arm in midair as it spun ever so slightly to the side. On instinct, she fired off the one shot that was meant for the creature. Instead of hitting the monster in the head, it traced a clean course through the air and gouged a thin gash in the side of Carter's belly. Although not a fatal wound by any means (with its pain overpowered by that of the severe burns he withstood), it was enough to send him spinning all the way around once and falling on his behind heavily.

Katherine could only look over The Demon's shoulder tearfully as he had forced her to shoot the boy she loved most. Now given its awkward positioning, she could only submit to the fact that The Demon had complete control over her. _No, it's like that time he took you all over again. You cannot let control go, no, you must regain control!_

Struggle though she did, Katherine was no match for The Demon. In one quick move, the creature raised its knee up and impacted heavily against her elbow, shattering her arm and bending it backwards as it contorted against The Demon's arm. She cried out in unbelievable agony as she cradled her shattered arm with her one good hand. Falling to her knees, she could only look across the grassy clearing to Carter as he sat mutely and stared clearly into her eyes.

Her vision was blocked as The Demon crouched down before her and met her eye to eye. It came within a few inches of her face, smelling her and smiling. It was surprised, but in the end it was impressed with the girls fighting skill, and even though her arm was shattered she still had with her a sense of rage that was rather admirable. Feeling rather solicitous, the creature decided to make an offer.

"We can make this quick, or we can make this hurt, we give you the option only because you're more a warrior than we tho-"

The creature was cut off as the agonizing blonde arched her neck forward closely enough to allow her to kiss the creature. Rather than her mouth meeting the beast's lips, it found the monsters nose, her teeth biting down hard as she cut through flesh and cartilage. With a gush of blood and a scream on the part of the creature, Katherine wrenched her neck to the side, ripping The Demons scarred nose clean from his face.

Long past feeling solicitous, the creature could feel the blood pulsing against the piece of shrapnel in its skull better than ever. Looking down into the spiteful, glasses-covered eyes of the blonde, the creature vengefully swung its machete back and like an expert baseball player brought it forward again, effectively and neatly decapitating Katherine Farraday.

* * *

As he watched the head of the girl he loved fall from her body in a spray of arterially pumped blood, Carter felt the whole world fall out from underneath him. Whatever feeling he once had for the world all but vanished. What cognitive sensations he knew disappeared. All he knew was that she was gone. Nothing else in the world mattered. He could have been ripped limb from limb by wild animals at that very moment and all he would have known in the world would be that Katherine was gone. 

He tried to scream out "NO." He tried to say her name. Neither came out as he let out with a nondescript roar of anguish that sounded closer to "GNARGH!" than anything human. Hobbling with all his might as his feet seemed to float on air, Carter ran past the approaching Demon and fell by the side of his one true love. For its part, The Demon looked to the passing boy but paid him no heed. Between the remaining boy and the remaining girl, the girl posed a much greater threat (well, that, and even the creature could admit its nose and shoulder were hurting like hell). As such, with its machete held high it approached Ashley with murder in its eyes.

* * *

Looking up at the monster as it rapidly came down upon her, Ashley barely had time to put a plan into action. She fired off one shot from the sawed-off and missed entirely. With only one left in the chamber and no time to reload, she unloaded a blast of buckshot cleanly into the vile beast's chest, knocking it back onto the ground. No sooner had it fallen than it started to get back up on shaky feet. Looking to the creature, Ashley could only stare in fear. _Christ, it's like living in some big horror movie._

With a few extra seconds bought, the girl reached into her backpack and pulled out the spray can she'd prepared earlier. Hurling it with all her might towards the creature, she just hoped that it was accurate with its machete.

Indeed, as it saw the oddly-shaped device flying its way, The Demon prepared to strike the spray can in midair. It wanted to laugh at the Latina's desperation as she threw a can of something from her backpack and actually thought it would be good for something. What The Demon had not counted on was the fact that the can she threw was highly pressurized, and that the spark that came from its contact with the machete would ignite its aerosol propellant. With a sharp bang and small blast of flames, The Demon was knocked to the ground as its body was littered with rusty nails. Given their speed and size, more than a few easily pierced its Kevlar vest, while the ones that tore at its good arm wrenched the machete from its hand and sent the weapon flying into the burning jungle. Crawling through the mud, muck and blood with her tire iron in hand, Ashley prepared to kill The Demon once and for all.

* * *

"Katherine," Carter said simply as tears filled his eyes and poured down his blistered cheeks. "Katherine... Katherine..." 

He sat on the ground with crossed legs, cradling her severed head as if it were a child's most precious toy. What he had invested his life in for years and had made into something truly amazing over the last couple of days was now just a dead body like any of the others, covered in blood and missing everything that once made it human, what made it... beautiful. _Why, just, why like this? Why did this have to happen to someone so beautiful and pure, just, someone so perfect? God, why do this? Katherine? Why? FUCKING WHY? I SAVED HER, I SAVED HER AND NOW THIS? WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?_

Normally as peaceful and reserved a person as could be found, Carter found the anger and rage that had been building up within him for years. It had been growing inside him much like a life all its own, but he had never let it free out of propriety and fear of what might happen. With nothing left to fight for and no more reason to deny its power, Carter let the anger spill over and explode into a powerful rage. The beast that had hidden itself within him for so long finally escaped, and Carter was more than willing to let it have its vengeance. The Demon was going to pay for what it had done, and Carter was going to see to it that it would suffer to its very last breath.

Searching the grass almost instinctively, the boy found the fire axe he'd lost earlier in the fight and hobbled slowly over to the other two remaining combatants.

* * *

The Demon and Ashley met each other on their knees, fighting it out with their hands as they punched and scratched each other, trying to find some way to physically beat the other into submission. Though she put up a valiant effort, Ashley could feel the blood loss from her foot wound combining with the general fatigue of it all as The Demon fought her on pure instinct and anger. What had once been Damien Myers, what had once been someone she would have called a close friend had devolved into a raging monster, gnashing its remaining bloody teeth as it tried to find vulnerability in the Latina's defenses. 

Looking to take the offense and end the fight for good, Ashley grabbed The Demon's powerful right hand in her left and raised it to the sky. With the tire iron held powerfully in her right hand, Ashley quickly rammed it into the creature's side, impaling it almost all the way to the handle on the L-shaped metal tool. What great strength once existed in The Demon seemed to all but disappear as Ashley ravaged its body with the metal tool, twisting it as she pushed it in another half inch. Blood began to pour from the monster's mouth, and as it continued to fight her Ashley twisted the weapon even further.

Despite being impaled on what was quite probably a mortal wound, the creature fought with every last ounce of its strength, wriggling its arm free of the Latina's grasp as it placed its hand on her face. It held her softly, even considerately for just a moment as if some remnant of their old friendship seemed to have found its way through. Ashley looked into the beast's eyes and for a moment could have sworn that she found some forgiveness in there.

What courtesy the creature extended lasted only a moment as it used its tremendous strength to grasp the girl's face. With a thumb placed against her left eye, the monster crunched down upon it with every last bit of strength it could muster. Crying out in agony as she felt herself go blind, Ashley forced herself not to let go of the tire iron, driving it into the creature even deeper as she tried to force her body away from its own. Instead of taking her movements as a sign of escape, The Demon used the girl's move to its advantage, straightening its arm and locking its elbow as it placed all the force of its body into the thumb grinding into Ashley's eye. She continued to fight, but used less strength as the agony in her eye caused her other to tear up while she cried out in agony. With a pop and some unidentifiable brown fluid pouring down her cheek, The Demon successfully forced its thumb all the way into Ashley's eye socket, causing the Latina to scream out in unbelievable agony. With what strength she could muster, the girl let go of the tire iron and rolled up into a ball, cupping her hands over her ruined eye.

Looking at the girl rather ambivalently, The Demon pulled the tire iron from its side, inch by agonizing inch, not surprised in the slightest at the bits of flesh that stuck to it or the blood that continued to pour freely from its mouth. Lifting the tire iron overhead, it prepared to impale Ashley to the ground.

Instead, the beast was met by a screaming, yelling and howling Carter as he swung the axe wildly at The Demon's legs. The creature could only yell as it fell to the ground, listening to and feeling as Carter swung the ax wildly again and again. First its left leg was severed below the knee by a flurry of blows, while one powerful drive and strike cut The Demon's right foot cleanly off. Standing over the creature, Carter placed both hands on his axe as he prepared to cleave the monster's head in two.

Using its powerful arm to press off the ground, The Demon flipped its body over, quickly stabbing Carter all the way through his calf with the tire iron. Falling on his back in pure agony, Carter could only stare into the bright, smoky sky as agony once again took over his body. _No, you cannot let it end like this, think about Katherine, think about what it did to Katherine. You could've prevented this, kill it, do it NOW!_ The boy groped about blindly in the grass and mud for something, anything that could be used for a weapon. What he grasped wasn't a weapon in any traditional sense, but under the circumstances it would have to do.

Using its one arm to pull itself forward, The Demon crawled towards Ashley. She lay completely vulnerable in her near fetal position as she cradled the ruined crater that once held her left eye with the screwdriver laying just inches from its grasp. Pulling its head over a large flat stone that had gotten in the way, The Demon could only smile. _We deal with the strong and take on the weak, and the most worthy of all comes out on top. The game will be won in our names, it shall be, it shall be ours!_ Delirious from blood loss and general insanity, the creature giggled as it pulled itself towards the screwdriver.

It was stopped as Carter dropped his entire body weight on top of the monster. Pulling The Demon up by the collar of its shirt, he slammed the beast's head into the stone once, twice, three times, each time spraying more blood out in a flower shaped pattern against the stone. Grasping the bludgeon he had found in the grass just seconds before in his good hand, Carter smashed it repeatedly into The Demon's skull, pulverizing it as it lay up against the flat stone. How or why someone had ditched the heavy graphing calculator out in the middle of the field was anyone's guess as far as Carter was concerned, but in his one good hand and combined with the fury that coursed through his system, it seemed like he was carrying the hammer of Thor. Again and again he brought the weapon down, each time getting a more audible crack or pop from The Demon's skull, each time coating his own hands with more blood and gore as the creature's head literally broke open on the stone. After so long a period of smashing the calculator into the beast's head, the weapon shattered to pieces in Carter's hand.

Letting the passion and fury of the moment take him over, Carter didn't let that deter him as he continued to pummel The Demon's skull with his bare hand, reaching down and thrusting his fingers into one of the fissures he created in the monster's head. He pulled apart pieces of skull and tossed them to the side, then reaching into the monster's head, he felt the sticky pulp that was once the troubled brain of Damien Myers. Reaching within, the boy grabbed large handfuls of the bloody gray matter and threw it angrily to the side, reaching in for more as he scooped out The Demon's brain and angrily discarded it. Pulling out another handful, the boy found slight confusion in cutting his hand on a piece of metal that seemed to be lodged within, but in the end he didn't care.

Going into the game, Carter James was without a doubt one of the most passive people the world had known. As he knelt painfully over the ruined corpse of Damien Myers, head broken open and brains strewn about like candy from a piñata, Carter couldn't help but feel similar to a beast himself. Grabbing one last handful of The Demon's brains, Carter lifted them into the sky as he let out a primitive, bestial roar of anguish.

"KATHERINE!"

And just like that, the Battle Royale which had started with fifty contestants found itself down to two.


	75. Hour 70: 2 Contestants Remaining

Hour 70

2 Contestants Remaining

The tattered lover sat in the tall dry grass, coughing a mess of mucous, soot and bile as he tried to stay seated and for lack of a better word, alive. His body had been torn, charred, shot and impaled to just within the boundaries of human endurance, but despite the agony that coursed through every fiber of his being, the boy forced himself to remain upright. Within his arms he cradled the talisman that had kept him going for the entire game, rocking slowly back and forth as if he were carrying his own child.

"I'm sorry. I'm just... what, damn it. God damn it. I could have fixed this. I really, I could have, but I didn't, I... Jesus. God fucking damn it. It didn't, it didn't have to be like this. I could have, I should have fixed it. He was right there, and I did nothing. He was laying there in the mud, almost dead. Fuck. Damn it. FUCKING DAMN IT. I should have killed him. Shot him in the head and done it again to make sure. I should have done it three, no, should've just emptied that crappy revolver you got into his head. I should have turned his head into a red mix of paste and brains. But I didn't, and look at me, look at all of us now."

If he'd had the nerve endings to do it, Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1, would have grimaced. Had his body not been dehydrated from the massive burns his body withstood, he would have cried. Instead the boy wept inside in a horrendous combination of rage and remorse.

"Then again, you can't look, can you?" the boy asked as he violently coughed up a large ball of phlegm, spitting it into the tall grass that surrounded him.

"Maybe you can, I don't know. I've always wanted to believe that there was someone in charge, some place beyond this where youth and beauty last forever, but it's kind of hard believing in a God when something like this game is allowed to exist. And if He did... I'd make Him regret it. I'd take God and make Him do this, make Him do this and make Him suffer, just so He could see what it was like."

Carter couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of everything he was saying, but given that he was on the last thread of sanity as it was, the boy wasn't beyond much of anything.

"If I could, I would fuck God up."

The boy arched his back, looking into the sky as he cradled his talisman and wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

"You're so beautiful. Even now. You're gone, and you're still so beautiful. I wish I wasn't so angry now, but I am. You were so beautiful, so beautiful, so kind, so amazing to me when you had nothing to gain from it. I've... I've never known it. I always, always just thought you were this impossible dream, this figment of some brilliant artists imagination of the ideal woman, but you were real. You were so real."

Rubbing the icon within his tattered hands, the boy could only watch as the charred skin from the remaining thumb and forefinger from his bullet-riddled limb rubbed off on the talismans otherwise pristine surface.

"FUCK! GOD DAMN IT!"

He rubbed the skin from the idol's face, cursing the black residue he left as he stared into it.

"I love you, I always have, I always will. If I could, I'd bring you back so I could tell you. If I could, I would... I would do anything to have you back. God damn it... why'd you have to be so amazing? I'd trade my life for yours, but I can't. I just can't. It's so unfair, but that's life, isn't it? I will see you again, if not in this life, then whatever exists beyond this one."

Looking to the sky shakily, the boy suddenly found himself in a position not of love or nostalgia, but of pure rage.

"Until then, they are going to pay. I will make each and every person from the ground up who made this fucking game possible pay. No matter what, they have to pay. I... have to make sure that they pay."

Looking down to the severed head of Katherine Farraday that he cradled in his arms, the boy bent down to kiss her on the forehead. Crawling over to where what was left of her body lay, he set it as best as he could where the neck was supposed to be.

"I love you Katherine, I always have, always will."

Pushing his hands off the ground, the boy fell onto his back. With his one good leg he pushed himself along, breaking through the grass that had not been burned as he did his best to find Ashley. Over the last hour the fire had burned down much of the surrounding forest, but thankfully it avoided their direct zone. After a fight that cost as terrible a toll as it did, neither of the survivors wanted their last moments to be burning to death. The soot and smoke were still choking, but given their general condition, neither was willing to complain too much about it.

Finally reaching the edge of the bunker, Carter spotted Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5, as she propped herself up against its cinderblock wall. The tourniquet they'd wrapped around her ankle seemed to stop the bleeding from her foot while the bandages that covered her eye seemed to stem the flow of blood and other viscous fluid, but all things considered she was really beyond moving very much. Neither of the remaining two could walk, let alone stand, and given that they were more or less a couple of tattered, charred people covered in strips of torn cloth and improvised bandages, they looked to be more zombies than warriors.

Carter sighed. It would figure in the universe's grand sense of irony that he would make it to the final two of something like this with the person that he cared about most in the world aside from Katherine. _Why Ashley, she's practically your sister, no, more than that, even if she wanted it to be even more than that, but she's still closer to you than anyone else. Why'd she have to be here too?_

"You all right, Carter?" Ashley asked groggily from underneath her thick bandage. The wounded and burned boy did not respond, instead looking off towards where Katherine's body lay in pieces. _She's dead... how could she be dead? What's that under your fingernails? No, don't pay attention to that. Christ... she's dead. Stop thinking about it, this isn't going to make anything better._

"You still got your ears so I know you can probably hear," Ashley groaned as she felt pain shoot through her face. "I asked if you were aight."

"Do I look all right?" the boy asked simply.

"Good point," Ashley responded as she ran her tongue through her mouth. Feeling something that ached, she reached into her mouth and pulled free a tooth that Myers had knocked loose.

"Lovely," the girl said as she tossed the incisor to the side. All totaled the creature had knocked three of her teeth clean out and broken two in place. In pretty much every manner of speaking, Ashley was in a world of hurt. But then again...

With the slightest bit of enthusiasm that she could muster, the girl pulled her pack into her lap and started rooting through it. A swift change in the wind direction caused the girl to gag slightly as it caught the odor of rot and decay that came from Homer and Lisa's three day old carrion-bird-chewed corpses, but as the idea grew in her head, she continued her search with even more gusto. Searching to the bottom corners of her backpack, Ashley smiled as broadly as she could.

"As a brilliant man once said," the girl noted ironically, "I am invincible!"

Piquing even Carters curiosity, the girl held out her open hands to display the three joints that she had stolen from Matts pack. The paper was distinct, and without even looking at them she knew that they were made by Jackson Brent. The guy, he did make good stuff.

"We're down and out now," Ashley muttered as she subconsciously tried to blink an eye that no longer existed, "Might as well go out with a bang, right?"

Looking at the drugs in Ashley's hands, Carter's mood, sour though it already was, found itself in a state of puzzlement. His brain addled by pain and grief, for some reason he could only look at the marijuana joints nostalgically. _Why is she still doing this, didn't she say she'd be done by Grad Nite?_

* * *

"_...Friday night and everyone's moving, I can feel the heat but it's shooting, heading down, I search for the beat in this dirty town; Downtown the young ones are going, downtown the young ones are growing, we're the kids in America..."_

Carter couldn't help but tap his fingers on the walkup counter to Sunrise Donuts as the 80's classic played from the boom box behind the counter. He looked to his watch and grimaced. _5:38 in the morning. God damn it. You owe me on this one Ash._

"Half a dozen glazed, half a dozen old-fashioned chocolate and a bear claw, oh yeah, and two bottles of milk," the boy behind the counter said with a yawn. "Anything else, Carter?"

"No thanks Eli," Carter said with a smile to the boy behind the counter. "Work all night?"

"More than I'd like," Eli bemoaned. "So how was prom?"

"Not a lot to it," Carter lied. "You didn't miss anything."

"Good to hear it," Eli said with a shrug. "Give my best to Ashley why don't ya?"

"Will do my man, will do," Carter said as he lifted the box of donuts and prepared to bring it back to the car. He couldn't help but laugh. _Eli Kaplan, guy's gay and he's even got a crush on Ashley, how the hell does that happen? Then again, how in the world does someone get a crush on someone like Ashley Vasquez?_

Noticing that one of his shoes had come untied, the boy stopped at one of the tables out in front of the donut shop, set his food down and hopped up on top of it. With his foot on the bench, the boy grumbled as he set about tying his shoe. _Four in the morning, couldn't she have waited until later? No, she couldn't have, and you couldn't wait to help her, because you're good old Carter James and you've always got to-_

"Hey there stranger," a feminine voice said from behind. Spinning about in his seated position, the boy met eyes with the girl as she walked in from the parking lot. The morning was cool, so she wore her Letterman's jacket over the gown she'd worn the evening before, but nothing could hide the steely blue eyes that had become her trademark as they lay framed by her curly blonde hair. For the first time in quite a while that he could recall, Carter James found Anna Rourke to actually be attractive. The girl walked quickly and smoothly to the counter, ordering up a coffee and jelly donut before Carter could get in a word edgewise.

"Hey back at ya," Carter responded groggily as he looked to the class president. "So you're just getting off prom, or waking up after?"

"Just getting off," Anna replied with a bit of a laugh. "Sunrise Donuts, no place better to work off a hangover."

Once again, Carter found himself in a position where he couldn't do anything else but laugh. Sunrise Donuts had long been one of the favorite hangouts among Braiwood High School students, for better or for worse, and for the longest time there had been an urban legend circulating that they put something in the donuts that alleviated the effects of a hangover. Having never had one himself and never intending to get one, Carter felt that he'd just have to go on hearsay and trust the rumors.

"Yeah. I'm helping someone do just that," the boy said as he nodded back towards his car. Anna craned her neck over to eye the car that Carter had taken as a hand me down, an aged yet well-maintained black 1971 Plymouth Barracuda. In it, Anna could barely catch the outline of a figure rocking it out to whatever was on the car radio, though it didn't take much to guess who it was.

"That Ash?" Anna asked.

"Yeah," Carter replied.

"Just a hangover?" Anna probed again, her calculating smile fading just the slightest bit.

"That... and a little more," Carter grimaced, "it's a long story. One for another time I guess."

"You guess?" Anna asked further as she rifled through the pocket in her Letterman's jacket and withdrew some cash to hand to Eli.

"Everyone's bound to have their own prom night story, so, yeah, I guess. How was yours?" Carter asked in an attempt to turn the tables.

"Now that my friend," Anna said as she retrieved her food and sat next to her SDS second in command, "is a story that remains to be told. I'm saving that one for my death bed."

Putting on his innocent eyes, Carter asked, "Not even for me?"

"Well, for you I'll say it may or may not have involved a fair amount of whips and chains, but beyond that, no, not even for the illustrious Carter James," Anna said with a smile. The otherwise harsh and cold looking girl had a considerable warmth to her that Carter had rarely seen before. It may have been a ruse to get more information, but Carter was inclined to believe that she was being real.

Looking back to the car, Anna continued her inquest. "So you saved her?"

"How'd you know?" Carter asked with genuine confusion.

Anna laughed sarcastically, "Come on. You're always saving somebody. Care for a bit of advice?"

"From Anna Rourke?" Carter asked hypothetically, "Always."

Letting her smile disappear almost entirely yet still keeping that caring tone about her, Anna continued. "I know she's your best friend, kind of like a sister even. She thinks something different I think, but that's just womens intuition talking, not proof. But if you keep rescuing her, she's only going to drag you down with her."

"What are you saying?" Carter asked confusedly.

Getting her food and coffee from the table and walking back towards her car, Anna said one more thing, "I'm just saying... when the time is right, know who to save. You don't always have to be the good guy."

The girl walked back to her car, looking back to the boy she left behind only briefly to give one last remark, "It was a hell of a party, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Carter said as he watched her disappear into her car, "sure was!"

Watching as Anna pulled out of the parking lot, Carter was left only with his own thoughts. He'd never considered Ashley as anything less than a friend. Sure, she had her share of problems and was a bit of a drain at times, but that was overshadowed by the fact that they'd known each other for so long, right?

He looked back to his car, watching as Ashley rocked it out, enthusiastically drumming her fingers on the dashboard. _Tonight's the night to have the talk. She woke you up, she should know the consequences. It's been a long time coming, and she needs to hear it, but to tone it down a bit..._

Deftly reaching into his pocket, Carter quickly flipped open his cell phone and dialed the number that most teenagers in the Braiwood area knew by heart. One, two, three rings and there came a click and a voice on the other end.

"Hey, J.J. Squalls? Yeah, I'd like to make a request for a good friend of mine..."

* * *

As he opened the door to the classic muscle car he called his own, Carter was assaulted by the sound system blaring The Ohio Players' Love Rollercoaster. Ashley did her best to drunkenly sing along with it, but no matter what the level of inebriation was, there are some songs that just could not be sung well by amateurs. Though he usually tended to enjoy Ashley's drunken karaoke, his conversation with Anna had put him in a slightly sour mood, causing him to turn the radio down considerably. 

"What took you so long?" Ashley asked.

"Ran into Anna, we chatted for a bit," Carter replied.

"And how is the Ice Queen?" the Latina asked as Carter revved up the engine and pulled them from the parking lot.

"She's doing well," Carter responded as he slid the box of donuts from his own lap to Ashley's, dropping each of their plastic bottles of milk into one of his car's hastily put together cup holders.

"I had to move your books," Ashley said out of nowhere, pointing to the stack of paperbacks she'd scattered across the back seat of the car, "I thought you were getting out of history."

"What?" Carter asked incredulously. Looking to prove her point, Ashley grabbed one of the books from the pile and held it before Carter's face as he tried to drive.

"This is one of your history books," she said as she looked at the title, "Tragedy at Angel Island?"

"I don't want to be a history major, not anymore at least," Carter said as he kept his eyes on the road. "History's already happened and I'd personally like to see where we're going. I'm into political science, and anything involving human rights violations fascinates me to no end, hence the Tragedy at Angel Island and similar reading materials."

"So then what is the Tragedy at Angel Island?" Ashley asked as she turned the radio up a slight notch.

Bugged slightly that she'd raise the volume while still wanting to talk to him, Carter ignored the action and continued with the story, "1968, some military base off Mexico, a group of American soldiers under a Captain Steel decided that they didn't want to go to Vietnam. Steel forced them on a plane at gunpoint, but when he took to the cockpit they mutinied and took over the plane, blew it up with some grenades to save their own lives before it took off. Didn't work out for them though, and without a trial or court martial the twelve of them were tied to posts at the firing range and murdered with machine guns."

"Fuck," Ashley muttered.

"No kidding," Carter replied. "We live in a messed up country, my friend."

As the two friends fell into an awkward silence, the radio droned on in the background with more of Braiwood's classic rock station. Carter navigated the winding streets of the town, trying to find the place they had gone time and time again to watch the sun go down or ring in all their special events. Navigating the small, twisting streets of suburban Braiwood was a task enough during the day given all the overhanging trees and old, poorly marked houses, but in the near pitch dark it was almost a Herculean task. Nevertheless, Carter wasn't one to really have a problem with it, as it was a tradition he didn't want to put down.

"Want to break in the box?" Carter asked as he eyed the donuts.

"I'm good," Ashley said as she seemed to produce a pack of Red Apples out of nowhere, quickly and deftly lighting one as she drew it between her lips. Carter eyed the girl with irritation, as it had been a point of contention between them for some time. _At least the window's rolled down this time._

"I got some good ones this time," Carter said as he reached for the box in her lap, getting his hand slapped away for his trouble.

"Not 'til we get there," she replied with a smile as she tipped the ashes of her cig out the window.

"You're certainly cheery," Carter said, then adding, "for a girl who just got her ass handed to her and bailed out of prison."

"Just popped another tab of E while you were getting the donuts," Ashley said with the widest of grins. "Wanted to end this night with a bang and damn it if I'm not feeling good about it right now."

"How the hell did you get E without anything getting confiscated?" Carter asked incredulously.

"I always keep a stash under the seat of your car here for emergencies, you know, just in case," Ashley said with the wryest of grins. Feeling just the slightest bit used (and at the same time glad he was never pulled over by the cops, lest they find said stash), Carter tried to say what had been on his mind for some time.

"Listen, I wanted to ta-"

"Hey, I love this song!" Ashley said as she cranked the volume up to its highest level. Carter tried to turn it down with a free hand, but Ashley quickly slapped it away as she arched her back and sung along with Whitesnake's lyrics.

"_Here I go again on my own; going down the only road I've ever known..." _she sang out enthusiastically as Carter could only try and regain his sanity and control of the road. He could have stopped, he knew he probably should have stopped, but he kept on going lest he piss his best friend off even more.

"Hey, watch me do that thing," Ashley said as she stuck her head out the window, "that thing from the video!"

Carter didn't realize what was happening until the girl he considered his best friend pulled herself out the window of the moving car and hoisted herself up onto the hood. The girl did her best to dance while sprawled out on the hood of the muscle car, looking back seductively (in her eyes at least, to the boy driving she appeared glazed over) at Carter as he stared at her, completely horrified.

"JESUS CHRIST!" he shrieked as he slammed on the brakes. Though only going a little over thirty, the momentum was more than enough to toss the girl from the hood and send her rolling on the pavement about twenty feet. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, I just killed my best friend, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!_

"FUCK!"

Quickly pulling the parking brake, the boy jumped out of his car and ran to the downed girl. She lay on her back looking up at the dim moon as it traced its path across the sky, and it occurred to Carter that she was crying. He'd never seen Ashley Vasquez cry before.

"Ash, are you all right?" he said as he pulled her up into a sitting position. Through her tears, the Latina looked like a completely different person. Where there was usually harshness now existed only vulnerability. Trying to take this in distracted Carter from her movements as the girl moved in and kissed him squarely on the lips (thank god she'd had a breath mint earlier). The fire that the girl usually had disappeared, her kiss now a seemingly sincere, yet confused and hungry locking of lips. They parted for just a moment, staring into each other's eyes without knowing what really to make of the situation. Just as quickly as they parted, Ashley kissed her best friend on the lips again, a little of her fire returning, and all obsessions he may have held otherwise notwithstanding, Carter found himself kissing her back ever so slightly. _Wait a second, this isn't right._

"What the hell were you doing?" Carter asked angrily as he pushed her away.

"We were kissing after you hit me with your car," Ashley said with a genuine sense of confusion.

"It was stupid! It was fucking stupid, what the hell were you thinking?" Carter asked.

"The kiss?" Ashley asked.

"No, the car, why were you putting your life in my hands?" the boy asked.

Trying to make sense of the situation in her hung over and punch-drunk state, Ashley tried to defend herself. "I wasn't, I was just trying to have some fu-"

"No, you were about to get yourself killed!" Carter yelled accusingly as he grabbed his friend by the shoulders. Be it from the drugs, the exhaustion, repeated head injuries or general confusion from the whole kissing situation, Ashley looked back at Carter with a great amount of hurt.

"You were doing something stupid, and if I'd been going any faster you could have been killed!"

"But I'm fine," Ashley slurred back defensively.

"You're fine now," Carter said, "But who's to say what happens to you next time? You keep getting drunk, you keep getting high, and one of these days you're going to get killed. You're going to be somewhere where I'm not going to be able to save you, and you're going to get killed, and I don't want to be around there for it!"

Ashley looked up to her best friend questioningly, while he could only let loose with more of his frustrations from years of friendship with the girl. _You've had your great moments with her, you've known her most of your life, but she's done this too much, she's only hurting herself and she'll take you down if you don't do something about it._

"So what is this?" Ashley asked, "If you don't want to give a shit about me, then why are you here?"

"Because I still care about you," Carter said earnestly, "but I don't want to deal with this anymore. I care about you too much to watch you destroy your life like this, so I want to make you a deal. If you still want to be my friend, if you care enough to better your life, you have to stop the drugs and alcohol. You have to stop poisoning your body. I want us to grow up as old farts together, laughing about how everyone else isn't as cool as us. I don't want to go to your funeral in three years time and have to give a eulogy about how I could have stopped you from flushing your life down the drain but didn't."

"It's just a little harmless fun," Ashley said defensively.

"It used to be, but you're getting worse," Carter said. "Do you care about our friendship?"

"Yes, of course," Ashley replied earnestly, "you know I do."

"Then do this for me," Carter responded. "Save your life, and I will still be your friend. If you don't want to keep us as friends, then we can part ways in the here and now."

"But it's the end of the year, there's all sorts of parties!" Ashley protested.

"Then it means you'll have to think harder," Carter said as he stared his friend down.

Always trying to look for an angle but genuinely wishing to remain friends, Ashley shot back, "Grad Nite! It all ends on Grad Nite. There's parties where I'm expected, but after Grad Nite there's nothing more. Let me be me until then, and then I'll be clean."

"No fooling, you'll clean up your act?" Carter asked sincerely.

"Cross my heart," Ashley stated.

"And hope to die?" Carter asked with a little bit of a smile showing through.

"You know I could never do that," Ashley said with eyes to the floor and a bit of a smile on her face, "especially after what I just promised you."

"Then I guess that'll have to do," Carter said as he brought his friend into a close hug.

"So we're cool now?" Ashley asked into her friends shoulder as she hugged him closer.

"We're cool," Carter stated as he tried to calm her down.

"Hey Carter?" Ashley asked.

"Yeah Ashley?" he responded.

"I love you," the girl said simply.

"I know," Carter replied.

"No, I mean, I love you," Ashley said honestly as she tried to clear out the last of her tears.

"I know," Carter said again with a sigh. "Come on, let's go to the tower."

* * *

Braiwood lay in a reasonably flat, sparsely wooded area of southern California, but jutting clean out of its center was Vista de Queso Hill, and at the top of that its tallest monument, the Braiwood Water Tower. True, it was a rusted-out relic of times past, but it was still more or less maintained to look nice because it had the town's name on the side of it. More than anything else it was popular to the high school students who would park their cars in the small clearing at its base so they could get high, make out or climb to the top of the tower and Crazy Glue a beer bottle with their name written on it on the tower's peak (a Braiwood High School tradition that the town leaders respected enough to not take the bottles down). 

For Ashley Vasquez and Carter James, its history was a bit more sedate. Mostly.

"Remember when we were in middle school and would come up here and beat the crap out of each other with two by fours?" Ashley asked as she munched down on a chocolate donut.

"I'd rather not," Carter replied as he could feel the pain from those days of their youths. Almost as long as they'd known each other, they'd hiked up the hill to watch the sun go down over Braiwood, but having grown up the hike had turned to a drive, and watching the sun go down turned to having hours long conversations while sitting on top of Carter's classic car. Religion, politics, sex, no topics were taboo as they would sit at the base of the tower. Most recently, Ashley had taught Carter to dance just in time for the prom. He didn't want two left feet, and she wanted some help on a history report, so it seemed only natural.

As it was, the pair sat on the hood of Carter's aged Barracuda, munching on donuts and watching as the first fingers of sunlight began to creep across the clouds in a brilliant display of orange and purple. To keep out the occasional silence, he even left the keys in the car so they'd hear it in time for JJ to sign off for the morning.

"Can you imagine that we're going to be graduating in just a month and a half?" Carter asked as he took a large bite from a glazed donut.

"Yeah, I can actually." the Latina responded simply. "This whole high school thing was fun and all, but I'm looking to get away from some of these bitches and assholes who think they run the show."

Carter couldn't help but laugh at her remark.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Good old Ashley," Carter said with a smile. "Sweet and cute one minute, putting someone's balls in a circular saw the next."

"It's not my fault balls and circular saws go so well together," Ashley replied in perfect time.

"Well, let's think of it this way," Carter said philosophically. "Maybe when we get out, one of us can run the show the way we want it. Give out the right kind of order and make sure things actually work for the better."

"You're dreaming, man," his friend replied, to which Carter only shrugged. Instead of trying to think of something more profound to say, the boy raised his bottle of milk towards the sky.

"To a better life for a new year," Carter said as he toasted.

"You know you toast a lot?" Ashley asked.

"I'm Irish, so sue me. It's what we do," Carter quipped.

"Well I'm Mexican and every bit as Catholic I think, so I should be good at toasts," Ashley said as she tried to think of something, then raising her bottle of milk to the sky, "...to clean living!"

"Hear hear!" Carter responded enthusiastically as he downed a quick sip from his bottle of milk. Hearing the DJ on the radio speak up, the boy quickly hushed up to hear what he had to say.

"...and so ends our late night block of Quiet Riot's Greatest Hits. This is J.J. Squalls signing off for the night, but before I do I have one last request to put through. This one goes out to Ashley, thanks for teaching me to dance even if I didn't use it. Cute. And so help me God I am going to find a day job, these nights are driving me crazy."

To the scratching of an old record player, a rapid disco instrumental introduction filled the air as Thelma Houston's 'Don't Leave Me This Way' began to blare out loudly and proudly over the Braiwood airwaves.

"You requested a disco song for me?" Ashley asked with genuine amusement as her friend slid off the hood of the car.

"Hey, we're both turning over a new leaf this year," Carter said enthusiastically. "You're cleaning up, I'm actually going to grow a spine and get out there and dance more. Before we both go changing for good, could I ask you to share this last dance?"

The Latina couldn't help but slide down the hood of the car, jumping into her best friend's arms as they had one last dance. The coming year, as far as they knew at least, would be one of change. They would be forced to grow up, they would become new people, but more than anything else they wanted to remain friends for life. Watching the sun rise over Braiwood as they shared one last dance, this seemed like all but an inevitability.

* * *

Considering the joints that Ashley presented before him, Carter did something that took Ashley completely off guard. 

"Can I get one of those?" he asked.

"Whoa, Carter wants to smoke some pot?" Ashley asked incredulously, minding the taste of blood in her mouth as she spit off to the side.

"I was just lit on fire, shot and impaled through the leg by a maniac who decapitated the girl I've loved as long as I've known what love is. I think I could use the chance to loosen up before we decide what happens with this clock of death counting down around us, you dig?" Carter spat out.

"I dig," Ashley said as she dropped the joint between the fingers of her best friend's good hand. Pulling free her trusty lighter, she deftly lit Carter's joint before placing one between her lips and lighting it just the same. The smoke pleasantly filled her lungs, and though the girl hoped that she would be taking off for more pleasant lands any moment, she knew she'd have to wait a moment for anything to take effect. Carter coughed fitfully as he tried to inhale the smoke.

"How's this stuff supposed to work?" he asked with a sputtering cough.

"You gotta hold it in until you can't hold your breath anymore, give it time to soak in," she instructed.

"How do you know when it takes effect?" Carter asked quizzically.

"Wanna fuck?" Ashley asked jokingly, catching only a pissed off glare from her best friend. "All right then, it's not working yet. It was worth a shot though, but give it some time."

Side by side, the pair lay down in the dirt against the bunker much like they had in the shadow of the water tower, their donuts replaced with marijuana, and fatigue from staying up late replaced by exhaustion from constantly fighting for their lives. This time there would be no dancing, no celebrating the changes that would come. The two just did their best to stall the inevitable, hoping that maybe taking their minds off of what was going to happen if just for a moment would prevent them from having to determine if the course of action was life or death. They could do any number of things to determine who would live or die, if anyone, but for the moment they were more than content with getting high.

"Hey Ashley?" Carter asked.

"Yeah?" the Latina responded.

"I'm glad we're friends," he responded simply.

"Me too," she said through a puff of smoke. "Me too."


	76. Hour 71: 2 Contestants Remaining

Hour 71

2 Contestants Remaining

The bigwigs behind the Third Annual Battle Royale had expected any number of things to happen within the confines of the game. They had contingency plans on how to move immobile students, how to take care of attempted escapes, what to do in case the clock ran down. They had expected to see people lose their minds, friends turning on friends, and even people beating each other to death with their own severed limbs (as happened in the failed Second Annual Battle Royale).

What they did not expect, however, was for their final two to get ripped off of smuggled-in marijuana and wait out their final minutes sitting next to the starting bunker singing from Three Dog Night's Greatest Hits.

"_Momma told me not to come," _Ashley Vasquez, a.k.a. Girl # 5 sang into her sawed-off shotgun as if it were a microphone rather groggily, rocking her head against the concrete wall in time with the song.

"_Momma told me not to come," _Carter James, a.k.a. Boy # 1 replied in kind as he forced the remnants of a smile to his burned lips.

"_She said now, this ain't the way to have fun,"_ the two sang before looking at each other. _"Sooooooon, this ain't the way to have fun..."_

There were twenty-three minutes left in the game, and likely in one of, if not both of, their lives, yet Carter and Ashley continued on as if Grad Nite had never been cancelled. They sang, giggled and laughed as if their bodies weren't covered in life-threatening, festering wounds. They felt, at least on a chemical level, as if they hadn't witnessed the brutal murders of some of their closest friends and confidantes in the world and seen more death in three days than most people see in their entire lives.

Yet try and fool themselves into thinking the situation was better than it was though they may have, neither Ashley nor Carter had pushed out of their consciousness the fact that they would soon have to determine who was going to live and who was going to die. But until then...

"I forget how the rest of that one goes," Carter shrugged as he laughed at it all.

"It's one of those songs you only need to know a bit of anyway," Ashley commented, "you know, get a few words out there and everyone seems to think you know what you're doing?"

"Man, those are the best," Carter said as he looked to the night sky. The fire had died off in the immediate vicinity more or less, making things at least a bit more hospitable as far as he was concerned. Anything that didn't have to do with fire he was rather fond of, drugs aside.

"Man, I've got some munchies real fierce here," Ashley said bluntly. "Fucking MRE's."

"Sorry I didn't pack some donuts, those'd probably be real good right about now, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah, they would..." Ashley mused. Staring up at the night sky, getting messed up like this, it almost brought back memories. The girl tried to shake it away. _In a couple minutes memories may be no good, just, just try to forget about it._

"You know what really freaked me out?" Ashley asked.

"In all this, the whole game of death? Really, what freaked you out?" Carter mused sarcastically as he looked over to his one-eyed friend.

"Benny the Bunny," Ashley said bluntly, "Benny the fucking Bunny, he freaked me the hell out."

"He's a big green rabbit doused with blood, maniacally wielding a pair of rusty hedge clippers. How the hell could that not freak anyone out?" Carter asked.

"Fair enough," Ashley responded as she unconsciously raised her hand to scratch her missing eye. Realizing what she was doing as soon as she touched the improvised bandage, the girl quickly pulled her hand away in disgust. _That's real fucked up, you know that, right?_

She sighed as she accepted what had to happen. They had delayed themselves for quite some time, but time was running short. What had to be done had to be done. Ashley spoke up, "We gotta do this."

"I know we gotta," Carter replied. "I don't want to, but I know we have to."

"We talked it out, I know," Ashley said as she pulled Katherine's revolver from her pocket. They had discussed the matter for the longest time (which was probably not nearly as long as it seemed given their state), and decided this was the best way to handle it. Waiting out the time limit was out of the question, as both wanted to live, but at the same time they didn't want to battle it out with each other if they didn't have to. So, the fairest and easiest method for determining who should live or who should die seemed simple, at least in theory.

Russian Roulette.

"You wanna go first?" Ashley asked as she emptied all but one bullet from the gun's supply. Slamming the chamber into place, the girl spun it, then holding the weapon out, barrel first, for her friend to grasp.

"Better odds, right?" Carter mused as he looked to the weapon.

Carter considered the weapon for the longest time as it sat in his best friend's hand. _Could it be that all of this has come down to something as simple as random chance? Well, might as well go first, better odds, right? Clear your head... well, try to clear your head. Just, try to be cool, know what you're doing and be cool._

"Maybe we shouldn't have gotten high before doing this," Carter noted ironically in an attempt at humor. Taking the revolver in his good hand, Carter achingly placed the barrel against his forehead.

"Any last words?" Ashley asked the now stone-faced Carter. Instead of responding, instead of thinking it over any more than he needed to, the boy closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

"Not yet, not here," he responded with the slightest of smiles. _Definitely it wasn't the greatest idea to get high before doing this._

"So I guess that makes it my turn, huh?" the girl asked as Carter dropped the gun in her lap. Trying not to let his nervousness show, the boy tried to retort wittily.

"One in five, the odds are down a bit in your favor," Carter said as he watched the girl handle the revolver. "So are you going to do it or aren't you?"

The girl hesitantly placed the weapon under her chin. _This is the best way to do it, right? Make sure you're not going to miss?_

"Come on, we don't have all night," Carter said as he tried to get rid of the nervous energy.

"If I didn't know any better," Ashley said as she barely squinted her eye at Carter, "I'd say you wanted me dead."

"I just want this over," Carter responded. "I just want to get this freaking nervous energy out and done wi-"

CLICK!

The chamber proved to be empty yet again.

"Down to one in four," the Latina responded as she looked gratefully back to Carter and slapped the gun into his good hand. The boy handled the weapon gingerly in his burned fingertips, twisting the weapon around as he considered its lethality. _Twenty-five percent, those are still pretty good odds in your favor, right? Come on, you can do this!_

"Scared?" Ashley asked.

"Hell yeah," Carter replied as he manipulated the weapon in his fingers. "Just give me a second to think this out."

"Come on man, nothing to think out. We said we'd do this, I didn't pussy out and I actually got one, no reason for you to," Ashley spat out a bit angrily.

"I said," Carter said as he put the barrel of the gun against his temple and pulled the trigger with a satisfying click, "that I just wanted a second to think this out. There's no pussying out involved, not now."

He tossed the revolver a bit forcefully into his best friend's lap, "One in three now Ash, enjoy."

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Ashley responded with the slightest bit of nervousness. "We're talking hardcore now aren't we?"

"Damn right we are," Carter replied. Ashley looked to the friend she had had for the better portion of her life and tried to hold back the fear that was growing inside her. _You're not nervous, are you? You're actually scared, aren't you? You've been fighting off death for going on three days now, and you only get scared now? Scared of the odds or scared of your friend?_

Putting the revolver beneath her chin, Ashley closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

CLICK!

Part of Carter looked to his best friend with a bit of shock and surprise, while maybe a little bit of regret. In a game where only one person could get out of it alive, part of him had honestly hoped for that to be the end of it so he could get out of this alive with little muss or fuss. No such luck.

"You look surprised, I should be offended." Ashley said as she tried to force a laugh, dropping the pistol in Carters lap again. "Come on, we don't have much more time."

"How much?" Carter asked as he held his burned wrist up for Ashley to see. Much of his plastic watch had melted and seemingly merged with his skin, so the Latina was willing to cut him slack in not knowing what time it was.

"Twelve minutes, give or take."

"So I gotta do this, don't I?" Carter asked with a greater amount of hesitance.

"You want to be fair, right?" Ashley asked.

"Always," Carter responded in an effort to feign conviction.

"Then do it," Ashley said, "just put that gun to your head and pull the trigger. Fifty-fifty shot, you can get out of this all right, or you could become a statistic. Come on, just do it."

"I'm working up to it," Carter spat back. "Sorry if I don't seem too enthusiastic to meet my maker."

"I just don't want both of us getting there first, ya know?" Ashley asked as she prodded her friend. Getting more pissed off by the second (but using the anger to prod himself into action), Carter pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Fuck..." was all Ashley could say. _Everything, everything you've done, it's all down to this. All that time in that airplane, all that time getting shot at, that whole fight with Joel, losing your eye, it's all down to this and you got it lost. Fuck! Ass!_

"Rules are rules," Carter said with the slightest bit of remorse, yet at the same time more than a little bit of relief.

"I know," Ashley said as she nervously took the gun from her best friend, "I know. I may be an asshole, but I'm not a cheat, I'm a man of my word and I agreed to this."

"Time's running short," Carter said simply as he could feel the relief flowing through his veins.

"I know," Ashley spat back as she tried to fight back tears from her one good eye, "I know..."

It all seemed so stupid staring at that snub-nosed revolver, but it was all to real. Just one pull and there would be death. Just pull it once, and it would be all over. Everything...

"I'm not going out like a coward, I'm not going to do this like a little bitch," Ashley said as if trying to reassure herself of what she was going to do, "Ashley Vasquez is no little bitch, I want the world to know that. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do," Carter replied, "I always have."

"Good, that's good to know," Ashley said, then adding, "I want all my stuff to go to mi tío, tía and little Eduardo. It's not much but you guys have done so much for me I don't know how else I can repay you."

Then remembering something rather important, she added, "And Kenny, under my bed there's a shoe box, sell everything inside, it should get you maybe $1500. Thank you for everything. Ashley Vasquez is going out like a man. She's going out on top."

Cracking one last ache out of her neck, the girl placed the gun beneath her chin. _God, what's this like? Shit, you've already killed people this way, shouldn't be too bad, they seemed to go quick, right?_

"Hey Carter?" the girl said as she closed her eye.

"Yeah?" the boy asked.

"Catch you on the flip side," the girl replied. Trying to steady her breathing, she placed her finger on the trigger. _Here goes nothing._

CLICK!

"FUCK!" she cried out as she chucked the pistol into the grass, "ASS! GOD DAMN IT!"

"What the hell?" Carter blurted out. _A dud? How the hell could it be a dud? Duds aren't real, are they? Aren't they just something they use in movies to advance the plot?_

"Fucking gun didn't fire!" Ashley shot back in a combination of fear and frustration. "What the hell, man?"

"The gun worked earlier," Carter said as the weight of the situation began to dawn on him. _No, no, now it's all even, time is running low and it's all even, you're going to die! No, can't, no, this can't be like this._

"You said you and Kath had to swim for safety earlier?" Ashley asked as she tried to figure out everything that happened.

"Yeah, what of it?" Carter asked. _No, it can't be like this, yes, you love Ashley, but not this much, gotta live, gotta make it out of here. You know how, to the back of your belt, do it so she can't see..._

"If you were in the water some of the ammo must have gotten wet," Ashley said simply as she warily watched her friend fidget in his seat. "Makes it useless."

"Yeah, it would do that, wouldn't it?" Carter said as he tried to force a smile. _Almost there, almost there, just reach the hand behind you so she won't even notice..._

Grasping Lexie's pistol that he had stuffed in the back of his belt earlier, Carter swung it up and tried to place it right against Ashley's temple. Realizing what was going on before it happened and remaining just the slightest bit faster despite her injuries, the Latina slapped his hand to the side, causing the boy to fire one shot off blindly into the grass that surrounded them. Having distracted his assault just enough, she reached to the side with her free hand and quickly brought the sawed-off shotgun next to Carter's face just as he brought the pistol right to her forehead. The panting pair stared each other down in a Mexican standoff for what felt like the longest time.

"That was my gun," Carter said.

"I know, kind of ironic ain't it?" Ashley noted as she fingered the trigger lightly.

"Yeah, it is," Carter replied with a heavy breath. _Be cool, be cool, be cool, it's almost over._

"I don't want to die," Ashley said honestly.

"Neither do I," Carter responded with great fear.

"Then what are we going to do about it?" Ashley asked nervously.

"I don't know..." Carter replied as he felt the pistol waver in his hand ever so slightly.

* * *

With seven minutes remaining, one shot rang out that sprayed a light mist of blood and brain against the wall of the starting bunker. The game's final loser fell to the dirt and muck in a twitching heap, ending the slaughter of the last three days quite literally with a bang. 

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAVE A WINNER!"


	77. Hour 72: 1 Winner Remaining

Hour 72

1 Winner Remaining

**4 months later...**

J.J. Squalls looked to the plaque on his wall with a great sense of pride. The government had given it to him along with a significant compensation check to cover the time and work he had put in during the Battle Royale he'd covered. He had long since memorized every word that was engraved into its golden surface, but all the same he couldn't help but keep looking at it again and again.

"_23 dead by gunshot, 11 dead by stabbing and blade wounds, 7 dead by blunt force trauma, 6 dead by explosion & immolation, 2 dead by asphyxiation, and one damn fine disc jockey to cover it all. Thanks for all the hard work, General Jack Thornton and The President of the United States."_

He couldn't help but let a tear fall down his cheek at the very mention of the president. J.J. had been as great a patriot as any, if not more so than most, but having suffered from a deformed hip at birth he was never truly able to serve the country. Instead, he had found his way with words and love for rock and roll to become a DJ at a small town radio station for damn near twenty-years running. Middle-aged, overweight, balding and with coke-bottle glasses, J.J. had never really been anyone's envy.

And then came the offer to MC the Battle Royale. Overnight he had gone from local celebrity to nationwide sensation. Rubbing elbows with the greats, dinners with the president, and the endorsement deals... for a man whose life was seemingly going nowhere, J.J. Squalls found himself delighted to be rolling in dough.

_Ah crap, song is ending soon._

But of course, even though he had money that he could literally burn if he were so inclined to, J.J. still felt a certain obligation to his old station. Sure, the hours still sucked and he didn't get paid squat, but with a monthly income in the six figure range on endorsement deals alone, he didn't really have anything to complain about. Besides, he really did love working at the station and verbally abusing people who made requests that were impossible.

"That was Queen's 'We Are The Champions', a true classic if I must say so myself," the DJ said, "but if Queen has made anything that wasn't a classic minus the theme from Flash Gordon, I don't know it. Well, it's currently eight o'clock in the pm, and I am out of here. The machine will take over for the night with the wonders of automated music choice based around statistics and focus groups, but while I still have a say, here's the wonders of one of my personal favorite songs. Here ladies, gents and everything in between is Tommy Tutone with Jenny, 867-5309. Later."

Sitting up from his swivel chair, the pudgy, middle-aged man stepped up and turned on the music automation machine. It'd play all night, while all the while putting even more DJ's out of work. _Technology of the future all the while pushing my kind even one step closer to the dinosaurs, how's that for wonderful?_

Sighing at his lack of importance in the field he loved yet reveling in his new-found fame, J.J. pulled on his Members Only jacket and prepared to leave for the night.

* * *

They all thought he was crazy, but J.J. considered himself more of a sucker for the classics. All his friends (both of them) had wondered why, for a guy with a new six-figure-a-month income, did he wind up buying a red 1967 Mercury Cougar? As far as J.J. was concerned, he bought it because he could. As a kid he'd always wanted one but never got the chance, and now that he had the means and the clout, he did it and couldn't have been any prouder of it. 

Walking across the station's parking lot, J.J. had to admire the vehicle. It had such power behind it that had he been a bit younger and slightly more attractive, he could have gotten laid so much, so often. Instead, he just had to enjoy it for what it was, a kick-ass classic muscle car. _Ah well, fair trade._

The DJ enjoyed the cool autumn air, taking in a full breath and smiling. It was early yet, but the leaves would soon be turning brown and falling off in such a way that would make Braiwood smell a damn sight better than most Southern California towns. It was almost a whole different world, at least as far as J.J. knew. Having grown up in big cities all his life, J.J. found Braiwood so peaceful by comparison. Looking from one end of the street to the next, there was not a car in sight. _They don't make towns like this any more._

Fumbling for the keys in his pocket, J.J. heard a rustling behind him. It sounded of the leaves and brought even more a sense of nostalgia. He couldn't help but smile.

The smile was broken as his face was slammed against the side of the car, several teeth breaking along with his nose as everything went black and consciousness disappeared.

* * *

J.J. Squalls woke up feeling as if his eyelids were made of broken glass. Everything hurt, especially his mouth and nose. Somewhere in the back of his mouth he had the dull copper taste of blood. He was sitting up, that much was for sure, but for some reason everything felt heavy. Struggling slightly in his seated position, the man felt great resistance. Opening his eyes even wider, the DJ could make out his bearings much better. He was in a dark room of sorts with a light directly overhead that seemed to block everything else out. There were tables all around him with vague contents he couldn't really make out in the lighting. Looking down, he could see that he was tied to a chair with exposed copper wiring. Whoever it was had stripped him down to the boxers, and the wire was already beginning to draw blood. He struggled against the bindings, but could neither budge himself nor the chair. 

"Oh my Christ," the DJ said, "oh fuck! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!"

Upon his vocalization, the man found himself aware of a door opening behind him. Heavy footsteps echoed off of the rooms concrete walls as he tried in vain to turn his head so that he could see. Instead, J.J. found his head too to be tied in place with the copper wire.

"Hello?" he plead, "Please, I let me go and I can give you a lot of money, I swear. I'm a real rich man, maybe you know me."

_Fuck, of course they know you, that's why you're here in the first place? Why would they kidnap you if you weren't so rich?_

The figure circled around him, hiding their form in the darkness. The DJ heard only footsteps as the figure continued about the room, pacing back and forth almost as if a predator stalking their prey. They seemed to stop at one of the tables, picking something up. J.J. could hear the distinct sound of a plastic bottle top being pulled free as the figure approached him.

"Please, don't do anything stupid, I can help you, really," J.J. plead with even more ferocity, "whatever you want I can get you, whatever you need, anything in the world! I know people!"

A cold liquid hit the DJ square in the crotch as the hidden figure began to douse him with the contents of the bottle. All over the liquid coated his body, its pungent odor burning the DJ's nostrils as he suddenly realized what it was. Lighter fluid.

"Oh my Christ no, please don't!" he hollered as the spray hit him in the face, "Please, don't do this, just, no, no, no!"

The unseen assailant tossed the bottle across the room, bouncing it off the concrete wall with a dull thud. It approached the DJ with glove-covered hands wielding a match book. Methodically the attacker pulled a match free with one hand and used a finger to ignite its flame.

"OH MY CHRIST NO, DON'T, STOP IT! STOP IT! DON'T PLEASE DON'T!"

J.J. never saw the match touch his skin, but knew enough that it had when he burst into flame. He screamed as loudly as he could while thrashing about in the chair, listening as his own skin cracked and peeled away, feeling his body racked with unbelievable pain as it was engulfed by the flames.

A sudden blast of cool took him from the flaming agony as he was enshrouded by the onslaught of a fire extinguisher. Crying as pain wracked through his body, the man couldn't help but vomit all over himself. Had he not wet himself sometime before, he surely would have done so again.

"Please, just let me go," J.J. pleaded as he cried in his seat.

"I should have done something about that mouth of yours," a voice said from the darkness, "I keep forgetting that it isn't soundproofed in here. Well, not that well at least."

J.J. reeled about in his chair as he tried to recognize the voice. It seemed so familiar, yet at the same time there was something off about it.

"You must be really confused right now, aren't you?" the voice said with a laugh, "Here, let me shed some light on the issue."

The footsteps crossed the room, and with the sound of a light switch being activated, J.J. found himself blasted from above by bright fluorescent lighting. With his vision limited as it was, once everything cleared out he found he could only see the back of a concrete room of sorts. Oil stains dotted the ground, and empty metal racks dotted the wall. The tables that surrounded him were dotted with various implements that on their own would seem rather innocuous, but together downright terrified the DJ.

Bolt cutters. A hacksaw. A blowtorch. Several pairs of pliers. A ball peen hammer. A claw hammer. A long pair of scissors. A collection of fish hooks tied to some steel wiring. A cigar cutter. A bottle of Drano next to a funnel. Some power tools he could not identify. All of it surrounded the severed head of Benny the Bunny as its floppy green ears lay flat on the table surrounded in blood, the raw stump of its performers head sticking through the bottom as it lay on its side.

"OH NO, OH MY GOD NO, I DIDN'T DO THIS, NO GOD NO, I DON'T DESERVE THIS!" J.J. yelled as he closed his eyes and tried to rid the image of this room of death from his view.

"WRONG!" the figure yelled as they dragged a chair and sat next to the man.

"You're so wrong on so many levels," they said, "You're so wrong you don't even know it yet. You may be a low man on the totem pole, but you and your rabbit friend here are just as guilty as anyone else."

The torturer was breathing down his neck, but J.J. forced his eyes shut in the off hope that it would prevent any further evil from happening.

"Open your eyes," the attacker said, "open them or so help me god I'll pull your eyelids off with a pair of pliers here and now!"

With a greater terror than he had ever known, J.J. opened his eyes and stared into the face of his tormentor.

"You... it can't be, I don't-"

"Oh you better believe it," Ashley Vasquez, formerly Girl # 5 of the Third Annual United States Battle Royale, said as she stared into the eyes of the DJ who had made the life of her and her closest friends a living hell. The girl who once was a simple thug to the students of Braiwood High School now had the visage of a fallen warrior. Though her hospital stay was relatively short at only three months, much had changed. Her face was lopsided and asymmetrical after several fractures from the fight with Damien never healed properly. The eye which had been gouged free was replaced with a glass one (though more advanced prostheses were available, she liked the idea behind a glass eye better), its brown, soulless gaze staring into the DJ's soul as her new gold teeth grinned maniacally beneath. Her shoulders were uneven in height, but given the minor nerve damage that she sustained in that airplane hulk and the piece of shrapnel they were unable to remove, odds were that they would never be again.

She stood up and paced around the man, her gait a bit off as she was still getting used to her new foot. As it was, the impalement to her foot had resulted in a massive infection that nearly killed her, attacking her internal organs fiercely and taking her foot just above the ankle. The prosthetic they had given her in place was very high quality, but still took some getting used to. For the most part the infection itself had gone away, but its scarring effects were what hurt Ashley most. It had destroyed her womb and any chance she would have at making a future for herself. Ashley tried not to concern herself with that in the moment, but she knew that in some years time (should she live that long), she would be feeling it.

"You're just as guilty as them all," the girl said spitefully, "and, well, I'm going to do my best to make you pay."

The charred DJ watched the girl as she went to one of the tables and picked up a ball peen hammer, then walking over to the table that held the head of Benny the Bunny.

"I can pay you, I have a lot of money, really!" the DJ plead.

"Your money means nothing to me," Ashley said, then grinning widely, "besides, I got a good twenty million just for winning, and that's not even going into the endorsements. I've got a Nike contract I'm signing tomorrow for a solid five mil and another with the Coca-Cola people on Thursday. McDonalds, BK and Kahuna Burgers are all trying to outbid each other for me, and you're trying to bribe me? You're trying to fucking bribe me?"

Pulling the rabbits head up by the ear, the girl spilled the actors head out onto the table. In real life the guy in the rabbit suit had been a twenty-something Mexican man, which was a crying shame in Ashley's eyes, but in the end it didn't stop her from removing his head with a pair of hedge clippers. _Get them to pull their pants down and you can do anything to 'em._ Ashley couldn't help but laugh at the thought as she grabbed a ball peen hammer and began smashing the head to bits as J.J. could only scream. The middle-aged man watched as the head flew apart like a melon at a Gallagher show, stopping his screams just moments after Ashley had stopped.

"Don't insult me Mr. Squalls," the girl said as she grabbed a handful of the rabbit's brain matter and a roll of duct tape, "now open wide."

"Now wait, what are you, what are you doing?" the DJ asked confusedly as the girl approached him calmly. Ashley was glad that J.J. didn't know what was going on, as it allowed her the perfect chance to catch the man off guard. With his mouth still agape, she crammed the brain matter she had scooped into her hand into the DJ's mouth, slamming his jaw shut and quickly pulling a piece of duct tape free in one smooth motion. Covering his mouth with the tape, she made it impossible to expel the contents that once were part of just another actor in an animal costume. The DJ fought against his bindings in disgust, vomiting again behind the tape as the contents swirled about in his mouth, though reflexively he did his best not to swallow as the tape kept it all in.

"There, that should keep you quiet," Ashley said as she walked behind the DJ to another part of the room, "you're bound to get pretty noisy in here, and frankly I don't need that right now."

With the revving of a small motor and the hiss of hydraulic lines coming to life, Ashley came before J.J. carrying an awkward looking device that seemed like a perverse combination of pogo stick and can opener.

"You see," Ashley said as she held the device in both hands and sat back in her chair next to the terrified DJ, "with Benny over there, and, well, in your mouth, I was so angry I took care of him real quickly. Frankly, it wasn't fun, well, not as fun as I was hoping at least, I mean you should've seen him scream after I cut his dick off. No, if it were up to me I'd put each and every one of you involved with this game inside it and make you kill each other off. I can't do that though, not yet at least, so I'm going to do the next best thing. I'm making good on my promise, and I am going to take this whole system down a brick at a time. While I still have the luxury of celebrity and no one knowing what happened to Benny and what's going to happen to you, I'm going to have a little fun."

Holding up the device in hand with malevolent glee, she stepped towards the DJ just to make him twitch, "So I'm going to take my time with you. See, I have a blowtorch over there this time to make sure you don't bleed to death. That was my mistake with Benny. I'm going to introduce you to some of my more favorite tools."

With a high pressure hiss blasting behind him, J.J. winced. Ashley could only smile at the sound.

"Ah, it's ready," she said as she looked to the device in her hand, "this has always been one of my favorites. I never used it myself though I've always wanted to. They call it the Jaws of Life, they can peel a car open like a banana."

The DJ's tear-filled eyes widened even more as the Latina moved her mouth close to his ear, speaking in a voice that could almost be considered sexy, "Why don't we see what it'll do to your foot?"

Behind the duct-tape and mass of human misery in his mouth, J.J. tried to scream.

* * *

Six hours after J.J. Squalls had awoken tied to a chair in the garage owned by her uncle, Ashley Vasquez walked outside and reveled in the coolness of the early morning air. Carrying a duffel bag over her shoulder, the limped over to her uncle as he leaned against the hood of her new car smoking a cigarette. 

"Done finally?" he asked as he took a drag.

"Yeah, it's done," the girl said as she unshouldered the bag, "I mean it was done about ten minutes ago, but I had to take another shower you know?"

Ashley made sure to take her time when she was taking J.J. apart, so she spent a good chunk of her time between tortures watching late-night Three Stooges shorts on a television behind J.J.'s chair. Twice she had to take breaks to take a shower, and once she broke into the refrigerator for a midnight (well, one in the morning) snack. So, all in all there was probably only two hours worth of torture, she just spread it out over a good, solid six.

"Of course," her uncle replied with a nod, "want a smoke?"

"No thanks, I quit. I made quite a mess, I'm really sorry," the girl said honestly.

"Think nothing of it mi sobrina," Kenneth said, "I'll take care of the mess and what's left of him, no charge. Your tía and me, we'll take care of it so well that even those CSI guys won't know nobody was in here."

"Good," Ashley said as she set the duffel on the hood of the car, "because once you're done, I want you, aunt Becky and Eduardo out of Braiwood. I'm going to do some bad things to some bad people, and I'm going to try not to get caught, but if anyone thinks I have anything to do with this, they're going to come after mi familia, and I can't have that, you know?"

Unzipping the duffel bag, Ashley showed it to be full of cash and an oddly-colored jar.

"That's two million dollars," Ashley said, "I talked it over with my accounting people so you don't have anything to worry about it with taxes. Move far away, buy a nice house, a new shop, and make sure my cousin gets a good education. I want him growing up smarter than this. He's gotta be one of the generation to make sure mistakes like this Battle Royale don't happen."

"I'll do the best I can mi sobrina," her uncle responded as he tossed the cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out.

"Then that's the best you can do," Ashley replied as she pulled her uncle into a tight hug. _Please God don't let this be the last time I get to do this._

"What's the jar?" Kenneth asked as they parted and he got a look in the bag.

"Oh, that?" Ashley said as she pulled the murky jar free, "That's a souvenir I'm keeping."

Putting it up for her uncle to see, Ashley showed off the mayonnaise jar full of formaldehyde. Floating around in it were the parts of J.J. that Ashley had managed to pull off while he was still alive, teeth, fingernails, tongue, eyes along with some other odds and ends in a macabre mock snow globe. Looking to a piece of anatomy that looked almost like a cracked walnut, Ashley could only smirk. _See Carter? I told you circular saws were the way to go._

"Might want to keep that one under wraps," Kenneth said in disgust as he lifted the bag free from the hood.

"That's the plan," Ashley said with a smile as she used a free finger to tink against her glass eye.

Opening the passenger door to the car they sat against, Ashley placed the jar on its seat before facing her uncle.

"Well, I'm out," she said, "I got a lot of stuff to do and all the time I want to do it in. Hugs to Becky and Eduardo, aight?"

"Yeah, will do," Kenneth replied as he took his nieces hand in his and held it tight. The girl let go, walking over to the driver side of the car and entering. In one swift movement, she revved the engine up and squealed out of the parking lot. The girl did her best to not look back at her uncle one more time, but had a hard time of it.

* * *

With few police around the Braiwood area at four in the morning, Ashley drove fast through the streets of the hometown she wanted to leave behind. Every night she saw them, going to sleep she would always find herself back at school seeing those who died. _Carter and Katherine, Peter, Francisco, Jacob, Bo, Lexie and Sky, Jackson and Eliza, Matt and Dora, Anna, Doug, Jenny, Michael, they all seem so happy. I'll join you guys eventually, but there's too much to be done before then._ She didn't want to keep seeing them every time she closed her eyes, and decided that it was best to leave Braiwood behind altogether. 

Hitting the highway, she shifted the gears on her newly acquired black 1971 Plymouth Barracuda. One of the first things she had done getting out of the hospital was meet with Carter's parents, apologizing profusely and giving them a half-million dollars. It all seemed so arbitrary, but they weren't holding it against her. They knew how much Carter cared for her and could not have held it against her. Part of Ashley had hoped for them to be angry with her, but considering the fact that they were at peace with their son's death, she felt a great amount of relief. The fact that they offered her his car struck her powerfully, and wanting at least one part of him to live on the girl gratefully took it. _This one's for you Carter, wherever you are._

Turning up the radio, the girl could only smile upon hearing Bruce Springsteen's powerful voice kicking into high gear at the tail end of a great song.

"_The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive, everybody's out on the run tonight but there's no place left to hide..."_

Ashley didn't know what the future held. More than anything else she knew there would be change, and that it wouldn't be easy to get. She wanted to make good on her promise to Carter, Katherine, and even Anna to keep the fight up no matter what. Everything that made SABRE was going to live on in one form or another. Some might have thought the finish of the Third Annual United States Battle Royale to be a great end, but if anything it was the birth of something new. _There's a lot of evil in the world, from the evil that comes out in the game to that which runs it, it all needs to be stopped. In the here and now it must be stopped. There will be destruction, there will be death, sacrifices will have to be made. There will be losses large and small, but they will all win out in the end. Evil never conquers._

Shifting the car into gear yet again, Ashley tore out onto the highway to Los Angeles with her hair blowing in the wind of the rolled down window. Not being able to help herself, she began to tap her fingers to the beat of the music. Soon enough she couldn't help but break out in mouthing the words of the song as The Boss' intensity increased almost impossibly tenfold.

_"But 'til then, tramps like us, baby we were born to run..."_

_I always liked that song._

**THE END**


	78. Acknowledgments & Thanks

Wow, what a long strange trip it's been, hasn't it? It's been a good three years almost since I started this little Battle Royale fan fiction, and all in all it's turned into something completely different than it started out. It began as just a small look into the deep, dark recesses of my imagination, my attempt to make an epic and in general me trying to show how much I enjoyed Koushun Takami's novel. In the end, it turned out to be something a bit more. I didn't mean to make this into as much of a novel as it is (and evidently twice as long as the original novel, or so my rough estimate of a word count tells me), I didn't intend for it to be as in depth as it is, but look where it wound up today. It's been a long and crazy time, I've gained and lost so many influences, readers and supporters over time, radically changed it from what it was originally going to be, and lost more hours of my life writing this than I choose to count, but in the end it's all been worth it. 72 Hours wouldn't have been possible without all of you out there, whether you know it or not, so while I still have your attention for a few more minutes, I'd like to give some acknowledgments.

First and foremost, being a big fan of cinema of all types, I must say that this story would not have been possible without the works of many directors and writers who have entertained me over the years, particularly Quentin Tarantino, Wes Craven, John Carpenter, Robert Rodriguez, Sam Raimi, Sam Peckinpah, Eli Roth, Cameron Crowe and John Hughes. I may have taken liberally from your works at points, but know it was only out of love and appreciation for your guys' works.

Dad, well, you pretty much know why you're here. You helped make me, raised me all on your own after mom died, and helped develop my sick sense of humor into what it is today. I'd say more, but you know everything already, just know that you're my best friend, always have and always will be. I can't thank you enough for all the encouragement you've offered over the years.

To Amy Twieg, a.k.a. Mrs. R, a.k.a. my muse/ever-present, all knowing and adorably difficult beta... wow, where to begin here (all right, I'll begin by apologizing for placing you third, that's a start :P). All right, for two years running you have been perhaps one of the stories biggest fans, critics and influences all in one, so when it comes to 72 Hours I don't think anyone more than myself has held such a strong role in determining where the story would go. Thanks for helping by telling me when I was full of shit, for helping inspire much of the character for Ashley, Katherine and Lenore, and in general being honest and telling me when I'm doing things wrong. The tone of the story wouldn't have been right without you, and I can't really thank you enough for it.

I would like to make a particular shoutout to author AnotherBeatPunk, formerly Quickstrike, for essentially helping 72 Hours get past the first chapter. Back in the day when I was still unsure whether or not I'd go through with the story, you offered a review. I know now it may not seem like a lot, but it was just the motivation that I needed to actually get up and go about writing the next chapter, then the next, and then the story gained a life of its own. Every writer should have just one good review to help them get off the ground and keep them motivated, and I'd like to thank you for offering one to me.

I'd like to thank Mario Lanza even though he probably won't read the story or anything I've written that was non-Survivor related, but it's all right. You're the only writer I've ever looked up to, you've been a mentor whether you know it or not, and I'd like to thank you for tolerating me even when I'm an annoying clod. Nobody looks after the place while the master is away better than Mario Lanza.

Special thanks to my real world friends and family Boris, Leisa and Paul for encouraging me every step of the way and actually reading this story without thinking of me as a deranged lunatic. Additionally, thanks go out to the real people many of these characters are based upon, even if they don't know it, they helped make a lot of this what it is today.

Who else, who else, who else, ah yeah, thank you to all you fans out there! This story would not have been possible without all you faithful constant readers out there cheering it on all the way. Making you laugh, cry, cheer and want to kill me all at the same time has been a blast.

So, 72 Hours is done and over finally. It won't be my last forte into Battle Royale fan fiction, but right now, well, I need a break. Thank you everyone who had a part in this story or read it, and if I can give you one last bit of advice, I must say... WATCH THE SKIES!

Peace, Love, Prosperity,

--Anthony Marston


	79. Coming in 2008

(Fade In.)

(Bouncy music plays as the video fades in on a cartoony forest background.)

ANNOUNCER (VO): Hey kids, he's been gone for a long time, but now he's back by popular demand! Who's your favorite big green rabbit?

CHILDREN (VO): Benny!

ANNOUNCER (VO): That's right, after a five year absence, three time Emmy award winner Benny the Bunny in association with The United States Justice Department: Entertainment Division is proud to bring you...

(In he bounds all perky and as full of mirth as ever. He's still green, he's still got a sickeningly cute face, and he still talks like Barney would should he partake in acid. Children cheer uproariously as he bounds into frame.)

BENNY: Hey kiddies!

CHILDREN (VO): Hey Benny!

BENNY: I am so glad to see you all again!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

BENNY: Did you all miss Benny?

CHILDREN (VO): Yes we did!

BENNY: Then Benny has good news for you! Due to some super-specialness on behalf of our wonderful justice department and some last minute mega-happy contract negotiations, your favorite Bunny will be hosting the 8th Annual United States Battle Royale! Isn't that great?

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

BENNY: Now I'd like to say more, but that'd ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?

CHILDREN (VO): Awwwwwww!

BENNY: But Benny can say this! Next year fifty-two new contestants will be brought into the funnest and bloodiest and gutsiest Battle Royale yet!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

BENNY: All right kiddies, now Benny has to go, but he'll see you all soon!

CHILDREN (VO): Yay!

(Flash cuts:)

(Someone jumping off the back of a bus.)

(A backlit, half-naked girl hanging by her feet from a noose attached to a tree-limb. The snow beneath her is stained in blood.)

(An army sniper shoots at someone offscreen.)

(A thin boy confidently smiles as he flips out two butterfly knives.)

(An African-American with thin glasses standing at a pulpit extends his arms to the cheers of more than 20 people sitting before him.)

(A teenager throws a Molotov cocktail against the shield of a riot cop.)

(A bloodied and terrified girl pointing a Kris sword at someone offscreen.)

(A boy pounding on the door of a small dark room and screaming as a white gas fills the air.)

(A large man with a burlap sack covering his face and wielding a double-headed woodsmans ax kicks down a door.)

(Cut back to Benny. He waves bye bye to the camera, looking directly into it.)

BENNY: He'll see you all reeeeeeeeeeeeal soon...

(He chuckles to himself as the camera fades down.)

FIFTY-TWO PICKUP

The Official Sequel to 72 Hours

Coming May, 2008

An Anthony Marston Story


End file.
